THE 

AUCTION 
BLOCK 


E  EACH 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


[See  p.  12 


AS  muddy  waters  purify  themselves  in  running,  so 
had  the  Knight  blood,  coming  through  unpleasant 
channels,  finally  clarified  and  sweetened  itself  in  this  girl. 


THE 
AUCTION  BLOCK 

A  Novel  of  New  York  Life 

By   REX   BEACH 

Author  of  «  The  Iron  Trail,"  "The  Spoilers," 
"The  Net,"  "The  Ne'er-Do-Well,"  Etc. 


Illustrated  by 
CHARLES  DANA   GIBSON 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 
114-120  East  Twenty-third  Street      -      -      New  York 

Published  by  Arrangement  with  Harper  &  Brothers 


COPYRIGHT.    1914.    BY    HARPER   a    BROTHERS 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 

PUBLISHED     SEPTEMBER,     1914 

G-0 


College 
Library 

PS 
2.S03 

a 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

As  MUDDY  WATERS  PURIFY  THEMSELVES  IN  RUNNING, 
SO  HAD  THE  KNIGHT  BLOOD,  COMING  THROUGH 
UNPLEASANT  CHANNELS,  FINALLY  CLARIFIED  AND 
SWEETENED  ITSELF  IN  THIS  GIRL Frontispiece 

"I  WROTE  AND  THANKED  SENATOR  FOGARTY  FOR  His 

OFFER  AND  TOLD  HIM  YOU'D  ACCEPT"    ....     Page         8 

"I'VE  TRAVELED  SOME,"  OBSERVED  MERKLE,  "BUT 
THIS  CITY  is  GETTING  TO  BE  THE  LIMIT."  LORELEI 
NODDED  HER  AMBER  HEAD.  "THERE'S  ONLY 
ONE  PARIS,  AFTER  ALL,  AND  THAT'S  NEW  YORK. 
DON'T  LAUGH.  I  READ  THAT.  WE  GIRLS  RE 
MEMBER  ALL  THE  CLEVER  THINGS  WE  HEAR  AND 
USE  THEM" "  40 

"WELL,  EVERY  TIME  I  COME  THROUGH  WITH  A  SUG 
GESTION  MA  CRABS  IT.  WHAT'S  THE  USE  OF 
TALKING  TO  A  PAIR  OF  HAYMAKERS  LIKE  You, 
ANYHOW?" '*•  56 

MAX  MELCHER  WAS  A  FIGURE  ON  BROADWAY;  HE  HAD 
THE  ENTREE  TO  ALL  THE  STAGE-DOORS;  HE  FRE 
QUENTED  THE  POPULAR  CAFES "  69 

"FAIRY  PRINCESS,  LAST  NIGHT  I  WAS  A  GOLDFISH; 

TO-NIGHT  I  AM  AN  ENCHANTED  LOVER — "      .    .       "         77 
V 


1CG1183 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"SACRIFICE!  IT'S  WOMEN  WHO  SACRIFICE  THEM 
SELVES.  D'  You  SUPPOSE  ANY  OF  THOSE  MEN 
WE  MET  LAST  NIGHT  WOULD  SACRIFICE  HIMSELF 
FOR  ANYTHING  OR  ANYBODY?" Page  88 

"MY  DEAR,  I  NEVER  SAW  A  KING — OUTSIDE  OF  A 
PINOCHLE  DECK.  You  NEVER  REALLY  BELIEVED 
THAT  KING  STUFF,  DID  You?" "  104 

"YOU'RE  A  STRANGE  BROTHER,"  SHE  SAID.  "I  HARDLY 
KNOW  WHAT  TO  MAKE  OF  You.  HAS  THE  CITY 
KILLED  EVERY  DECENT  INSTINCT  IN  You,  JIM?"  "  120 

IT  WAS  CHARACTERISTIC  OF  HER  THAT  SHE  COULD  so 
EXCITE  HERSELF  BY  THE  POWER  OF  VISUALIZATION 
AS  TO  BE  COMPLETELY  TRANSPORTED  ....  "  159 

"I'M  BEGINNING  TO  DOUBT  THAT,"  LORELEI  SAID, 
SLOWLY.  "I  THINK  You  ALL  LOOK  UPON  ME 
AS  A  PIECE  OF  PROPERTY  TO  Do  WITH  AS  You 
PLEASE" "  168 

ADOREE,  CLAD  Now  IN  A  NAMELESS,  FORMLESS  GAR 
MENT,  HAD  COVERED  HER  HEAD  WITH  A  TOWEL 
TURBAN  AND  INCASED  HER  FEET  IN  AN  OLD  PAIR 
OF  SHOES "  173 

BOB  ROSE  UNSTEADILY,  GLASS  IN  HAND.  "THANKS, 
NOBLE  COMRADES,"  HE  PROCLAIMED;  "SHE'S 
MINE!" "  195 

"AH!  YOU'RE  HOME  AGAIN,  FINALLY.  WHERE  HAVE 
You  BEEN?"  HE  DEMANDED,  IN  A  VOICE  HEAVY 
WITH  ANGER.  His  HOSTILE  TONE,  His  THREAT 
ENING  ATTITUDE  BROUGHT  AN  UNCOMFORTABLE 
SILENCE  UPON  THE  HEARERS "  200 

LILAS  REMAINED  MOTIONLESS,  STARING  DEFIANTLY. 
HER  FACE  HAD  SLOWLY  WHITENED,  AND  Now  ITS 
UNPLEASANTNESS  MATCHED  THAT  OF  HER  ELDERLY 

ADMIRER "     211 

vi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

SHE  WEARILY  WONDERED  WHERE  THE  NEW  ROAD 

LED — SURELY  NOT  TO  HAPPINESS       Page     241 

"DON'T  KILL  HIM;  JUST  STAY  AND  SPOIL  His  DIN 
NER,"  LORELEI  URGED.  DETERMINATION  GLEAMED 
IN  Miss  DEMOREST'S  COUNTENANCE.  "I'LL 
Do  IT  —  HE'S  SPOILED  MANY  A  DINNER 
FOR  ME.  BUT  GIVE  ME  ROOM.  DON'T 
TOUCH  ME.  I'M  DISTILLING  POISON  LIKE  A 
COBRA."  SHE  SEIZED  THE  GLEAMING  BREAD- 
KNIFE  "  248 

"You  MUSTN'T  TOUCH  THAT,"  SHE  SAID,  POSITIVELY. 
"En?  OH,  THIS?  You  MEAN  You  WANT  ME 
TO  BEGIN — Now?  A  FELLOW  HAS  TO  SOBER  UP 
GRADUALLY,  MY  DEAR.  I  REALLY  NEED  A  JOLT 
— I'M  ALL  UNSTRUNG" "  280 

DURING  THE  MEAL  HE  MADE  ELABORATE  SPEECHES 
IN  THE  NAMES  OF  His  FRIENDS.  IN  THE  EMPTY 
GLASSES  THEY  TOASTED  THE  BRIDE,  THEY  EX 
TOLLED  HER  BEAUTY,  AND  VAUNTED  His  CON 
QUEST  OF  THE  DEMON  RUM "  296 

HE  SUCCEEDED  IN  BORROWING  A  THOUSAND  DOLLARS, 
WITH  WHICH  HE  BOUGHT  LORELEI  A  SET  OF  BLACK 
OPALS "  312 

"I  JUST  PAID  FIVE  HUNDRED,  AND  HE'S  WORTH  A 
THOUSAND.  WHY,  His  PEOPLE  CAME  OVER 
AHEAD  OF  THE  'MAYFLOWER'" "  321 

THERE  WERE  A  FEW  EMBARRASSING  MOMENTS  WHEN 
SHE  FELT  CRITICAL  EYES  MEASURING  HER,  BUT 
HER  FIRST  INSTINCTIVE  APPRAISAL  OF  THE  OTHER 
WOMEN  MADE  HER  EASY "  328 

SOCIETY  WAS  TANGO-MAD.  THE  GUESTS  COULD  NOT 
WAIT  FOR  EVENING,  BUT  INDULGED  THEIR  LATEST 

FANCY  IN  THE  OPEN  AIR "       344 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"YOU   MUST   HAVE    BEEN   TALKING  TO   MERKLE.    .    .    . 

WELL?  .  .  .  WHAT  ARE  You  GOING  TO  Do  ABOUT 

IT?" Page       391 

"YOUR  ORDERS  Is  TO  LEAVE  TOWN.  BE  OUT  AND 
AWAY  AT  EIGHT  O'CLOCK;  THAT'S  FOUR  HOURS. 
UNDERSTAND?" "  399 

THERE  WAS  A  SILENCE,  THEN  HANNIBAL  LOOKED  UP 

TO  FIND  His  WIFE  STANDING  OVER  HIM  ...  "  417 

"WHY,  SHE  REFORMED  ME  FROM  THE  GROUND  UP. 
I'VE  SV/ORN  OFF  EVERY  BLESSED  THING  I  USED 
TO  Do" "  424 

LORELEI  REACHED  FORTH  AND  DREW  ADOREE  DOWN 
TO  HER,  WHISPERING:  "I'M  So  GLAD,  DEAR.  I 
KNEW  HE  WOULD  END  BY  LOVING  You,  FOR 
EVERYBODY  DOES" "  435 


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CHAPTER  I 

DETER  KNIGHT  flung  himself  into  the,  decrepit 
1  arm-chair  beside  the  center-table  and  growled: 

"Isn't  that  just  my  luck?  And  me  a  Democrat  for 
twenty  years.  There's  nothing  in  politics,  Jimmy." 

His  son  James  smiled  crookedly,  with  a  languid  tolerance 
bespeaking  amusement  and  contempt.  James  prided  him 
self  upon  his  forbearance,  and  it  was  rarely  indeed  that  he 
betrayed  more  than  a  hint  of  the  superiority  which  he  felt 
toward  his  parent. 

"Politics  is  all  right,  provided  you're  a  good  picker,"  he 
said,  with  all  the  assurance  of  twenty-two,  "but  you  fell 
off  the  wrong  side  of  the  fence,  and  you're  sore." 

"Of  course  I  am.     Wouldn't  anybody  be  sore?" 

"  These  country  towns  always  go  in  for  the  reform  stuff, 
every  so  often.  If  you'd  listen  to  me  and — " 

His  father  interrupted  harshly:  "Now,  cut  that  out. 
I  don't  want  to  go  to  New  York,  and  I  won't."  Peter 
Knight  tried  to  look  forceful,  but  the  expression  did  not 
fit  his  weak,  complacent  features.  He  was  a  plump  man 
with  red  cheeks  rounded  by  habitual  good  humor;  his 
chin  was  short,  and  beneath  it  were  other  chins,  distended 
and  sagging  as  if  from  the  weight  of  chuckles  within. 
When  he  had  succeeded  in  fixing  a  look  of  determination 
upon  his  countenance  the  result  was  an  artificial  scowl 


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and  a  palpably  false  pout.  Wearing  such  a  front,  he 
continued:  "When  I  say  'no'  I  mean  it,  and  the  subject 
is  closed.  I  like  Vale,  I  know  everybody  here,  and  every 
body  knows  me." 

"That's  why  it's  time  to  move,"  said  Jim,  with  another 
unpleasant  curl  of  his  lip.  "As  long  as  they  didn't 
know  you  you  got  past.  But  you'll  never  hold  another 
office." 

"Indeed!  My  record's  open  to  inspection.  I  made 
the  best  sheriff  in — ' 

"Two  years.  Don't  kid  yourself,  pa.  Your  foot 
slipped  when  the  trolley  line  went  through." 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  trolley  line?"  angrily 
demanded  Mr.  Knight. 

"Well,  I  know  as  much  as  the  county  knows.  And  I 
know  something  about  the  big  dam,  too.  You  got  into 
the  mud,  pa,  but  you  didn't  go  deep  enough  to  find  the 
frogs.  Fogarty  got  his,  didn't  he?" 

Mr.  Knight  breathed  deep  with  indignation. 

"Senator  Fogarty  is  my  good  friend.  I  won't  let  you 
question  his  honor,  although  you  do  presume  to  question 
mine." 

"Of  course  he's  your  friend;  that's  why  he's  fixed  you 
for  this  New  York  job.  He's  not  like  these  Reubs;  he 
remembers  a  good  turn  and  blows  back  with  another. 
He's  a  real  politician." 

" '  Department  of  Water  Supply,  Gas,  and  Electricity,' " 
sneered  Peter.  "It  sounds  good,  but  the  salary  is  fifteen 
hundred  a  year.  A  clerk — at  my  age!" 

"Say,  d'you  suppose  Tammany  men  live  on  their 
salaries?"  Jimmy  inquired.  "Wake  up!  This  is  your 
chance  to  horn  into  the  real  herd.  In  New  York  politics 
is  a  vocation;  up  here  it's  a  vacation — everybody  tries  it 
once,  like  music  lessons.  If  you'd  been  hooked  up  with 
Tammany  instead  of  the  state  machine  you'd  have  been 
taken  care  of." 


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"I  tell  you  I  don't  like  cities.  It's  no  place  to  raise 
kids." 

At  this  James  betrayed  some  irritation.  "I'm  of  age, 
and  Lorelei's  a  grown  woman.  If  we  don't  get  out  of 
Vale  I'll  still  be  a  brakeman  on  a  soda-fountain  when 
I'm  your  age." 

"If  you'd  worked  hard  you'd  have  had  an  interest  in 
the  drug  store  now." 

"Rats!" 

At  this  juncture  Mrs.  Knight,  having  finished  the  supper 
dishes  and  set  her  bread  to  rise,  entered  the  shoddy  parlor. 
Jim  turned  to  her,  shrugging  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of 
washing  his  hands  of  a  disagreeable  subject.  "Pa's 
weakened  again,"  he  explained.  "  He  won't  go." 

"Me,  a  clerk — at  my  age!"  mumbled  Peter. 

"I've  been  trying  to  tell  him  that  he'd  get  a  half- 
Nelson  on  Tammany  inside  of  a  year.  He  squeezed  the 
sheriff's  office  till  it  squealed,  and  if  he  can  pinch  a  dollar 
out  of  this  burg  he  can — " 

"  You  shut  up !  I  don't  like  your  way  of  saying  things," 
snarled  Mr.  Knight. 

His  wife  spoke  for  the  first  time,  with  brief  conclusive- 
ness. 

"I  wrote  and  thanked  Senator  Fogarty  for  his  offer 
and  told  him  you'd  accept." 

"You — what?"     Peter  was  dumfounded. 

"Yes" — Mrs.  Knight  seemed  oblivious  of  his  wrath — 
"we're  going  to  make  a  change." 

Mrs.  Knight  was  a  large  woman  well  advanced  beyond 
that  indefinite  turning-point  of  middle  age;  in  her  unat 
tractive  face  was  none  of  the  easy  good  nature  so  unmis 
takably  stamped  upon  her  husband's.  Peter  J.  was  in 
herently  optimistic;  his  head  was  forever  hidden  in  a 
roseate  aura  of  hopefulness  and  expectation.  Under  easy 
living  he  had  grayed  and  fattened;  his  eyes  were  small 
and  colorless,  his  cheeks  full  and  veined  with  tiny  sprays 

3 


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of  purple,  his  hands  soft  and  limber.  What  had  once 
been  a  measure  of  good  looks  was  hidden  now  behind  a 
flabby,  indefinite  mediocrity  which  an  unusual  careful 
ness  in  dress  could  not  disguise.  He  was  big-hearted  in 
little  things;  in  big  things  he  was  small.  He  told  an  ex 
cellent  story,  but  never  imagined  one,  and  his  laugh  was 
hearty  though  insincere.  Men  who  knew  him  well  laughed 
with  him,  but  did  not  indorse  his  notes. 

His  wife  was  of  a  totally  different  stamp,  showing  evi 
dence  of  unusual  force.  Her  thin  lips,  her  clean-cut  nose 
betokened  purpose;  a  pair  of  alert,  unpleasant  eyes  spoke 
of  a  mental  activity  that  was  entirely  lacking  in  her  mate, 
and  she  was  generally  recognized  as  the  source  of  what 
little  prominence  he  had  attained. 

"Yes,  we're  going  to  make  a  change,"  she  repeated. 
"I'm  glad,  too,  for  I'm  tired  of  housework." 

"You  don't  have  to  do  your  own  work.  There's 
Lorelei  to  help." 

"You  know  I  wouldn't  let  her  do  it." 

"Afraid  it  would  spoil  her  hands,  eh?"  Mr.  Knight 
snorted,  disdainfully.  "What  are  hands  made  for,  any 
how?  Honest  work  never  hurt  mine." 

Jim  stirred  and  smiled;  the  retort  upon  his  lips  was 
only  too  obvious. 

"She's  too  pretty,"  said  the  mother.  "You  don't  real 
ize  it;  none  of  us  do,  but — she's  beautiful.  Where  she 
gets  her  good  looks  from  I  don't  know." 

"What's  the  difference?  It  won't  hurt  her  to  wash 
dishes.  She  wouldn't  have  to  keep  it  up  forever,  anyhow ; 
she  can  have  any  fellow  in  the  county." 

"Yes,  and  she'll  marry,  sure,  if  we  stay  here." 

Knight's  colorless  eyes  opened.  "Then  what  are  you 
talking  about  going  away  to  a  strange  place  for?  It 
ain't  every  girl  that  can  have  her  pick." 

Mrs.  Knight  began  slowly,  musingly:  "You  need  some 
plain  talk,  Peter.  I  don't  often  tell  you  just  what  I 

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think,  but  I'm  going  to  now.  You're  past  fifty;  you've 
spent  twenty  years  puttering  around  at  politics,  with 
business  as  a  side  issue,  and  what  have  you  got  to  show 
for  it  ?  Nothing.  The  reformers  are  in  at  last,  and  you're 
out  for  good.  You  had  your  chance  and  you  missed 
it.  You  were  always  expecting  something  big,  some  fat 
office  with  big  profits,  but  it  never  came.  Do  you  know 
why?  Because  you  aren't  big,  that's  why.  You're  little, 
Peter;  you  know  it,  and  so  does  the  party." 

The  object  of  this  address  swelled  pompously;  his 
cheeks  deepened  in  hue  and  distended;  but  while  he  was 
summoning  words  for  a  defense  his  wife  ran  on  evenly: 

"The  party  used  you  just  as  long  as  you  could  deliver 
something,  but  you're  down  and  out  now,  and  they've 
thrown  you  over.  Fogarty  offers  to  pay  his  debt,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  refuse  his  help." 

"I  suppose  you  think  you  could  have  done  better  if 
you'd  been  in  my  place,"  Peter  grumbled.  He  was  angry, 
yet  the  undeniable  truth  of  his  wife's  words  struck  home. 
"  That's  the  woman  of  it.  You  kick  because  we're  poor, 
and  then  want  me  to  take  a  fifteen-hundred-dollar  job." 

"Bother  the  salary!  It  will  keep  us  going  as  long  as 
necessary." 

"Eh?"     Mr.  Knight  looked  blank. 

"I'm  thinking  of  Lorelei.  She's  going  to  give  us  our 
chance." 

"Lorelei?" 

"Yes.  You  wonder  why  I've  never  let  her  spoil  her 
hands — why  I've  scrimped  to  give  her  pretty  clothes, 
and  taught  her  to  take  care  of  her  figure,  and  made  her 
go  out  with  young  people.  Well,  I  knew  what  I  was 
doing;  it  was  part  of  her  schooling.  She's  old  enough 
now;  and  she  has  everything  that  any  girl  ever  had,  so 
far  as  looks  go.  She's  going  to  do  for  us  what  you  never 
have  been  and  never  will  be  able  to  do,  Peter  Knight. 
She's  going  to  make  us  rich.  But  she  can't  do  it  in  Vale." 

5 


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"Ma's  right,"  declared  James.  "New  York's  the 
place  for  pretty  women;  the  town  is  full  of  them." 

"If  it's  full  of  pretty  women  what  chance  has  she  got?" 
queried  Peter.  "She  can't  break  into  society  on  my 
fifteen  hundred — " 

"She  won't  need  to.     She  can  go  on  the  stage." 

"Good  Lord!     What  makes  you  think  she  can  act?" 

"Do  you  remember  that  Miss  Donald  who  stopped  at 
Myrtle  Lodge  last  summer?  She's  an  actress." 

"No!"     Mr.  Knight  was  amazed. 

"She  told  me  a  good  deal  about  the  show  business. 
She  said  Lorelei  wouldn't  have  the  least  bit  of  trouble 
getting  a  position.  She  gave  me  a  note  to  a  manager, 
too,  and  I  sent  him  Lorelei's  photograph.  He  wrote  right 
back  that  he'd  give  her  a  place." 

"Really?" 

"Yes;  he's  looking  for  pretty  girls  with  good  figures. 
His  name  is  Bergman." 

Jim  broke  in  eagerly.  "You've  heard  of  Bergman's 
Revues,  pa.  We  saw  one  last  summer,  remember? 
Bergman's  a  big  fellow." 

"  That  show?  Why,  that  was — rotten.  It  isn't  a  very 
decent  life,  either." 

" Don't  worry  about  Sis,"  advised  Jim.  "She  can  take 
care  of  herself,  and  she'll  grab  a  millionaire  sure — with 
her  looks.  Other  girls  are  doing  it  every  day — why  not 
her?  Ma's  got  the  right  idea." 

Impassively  Mrs.  Knight  resumed  her  argument. 
"New  York  is  where  the  money  is — and  the  women  that 
go  with  money.  It's  the  market-place.  The  stage  ad 
vertises  a  pretty  girl  and  gives  her  chances  to  meet  rich 
men.  Here  in  Vale  there's  nobody  with  money,  and, 
besides,  people  know  us.  The  Stevens  girls  have  been 
nasty  to  Lorelei  all  winter,  and  she's  never  invited  to  the 
golf -club  dances  any  more." 

At  this  intelligence  Mr.  Knight  burst  forth  indignantly: 

6 


"  I  wrote  and  thanked  Senator  Fogarty 


or  his  offer  and  told  him  you'd  accept." 


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"They're  putting  on  a  lot  of  airs  since  the  Interarban 
went  through;  but  Ben  Stevens  forgets  who  helped  him 
get  the  franchise.  I  could  tell  a  lot  of  things — " 

"Bergman  writes,"  continued  Mrs.  Knight,  "that 
Lorelei  wouldn't  have  to  go  on  the  road  at  all  if  she 
didn't  care  to.  The  real  pretty  show-girls  stay  right  in 
New  York." 

Jim  added  another  word.  "She's  the  best  asset  we've 
got,  pa,  and  if  we  all  work  together  we'll  land  her  in  the 
money,  sure." 

Peter  Knight  pinched  his  full  red  lips  into  a  pucker  and 
stared  speculatively  at  his  wife.  It  was  not  often  that 
she  openly  showed  her  hand  to  him. 

"It  seems  like  an  awful  long  chance,"  he  said. 

"Not  so  long,  perhaps,  as  you  think,"  his  wife  assured 
him.  "Anyhow,  it's  our  only  chance,  and  we're  not  popu 
lar  in  Vale." 

"Have  you  talked  to  her  about  it?" 

"A  little.  She'll  do  anything  we  ask.  She's  a  good 
girl  that  way." 

The  three  were  still  buried  in  discussion  when  Lorelei 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"I'm  going  over  to  Mabel's,"  she  paused  a  moment  to 
say.  "I'll  be  back  early,  mother." 

In  Peter  Knight's  eyes,  as  he  gazed  at  his  daughter, 
there  was  something  akin  to  shame;  but  Jim  evinced 
only  a  hard,  calculating  appraisal.  Both  men  inwardly 
acknowledged  that  the  mother  had  spoken  less  than  half 
the  truth,  for  the  girl  was  extravagantly,  bewitchingly 
attractive.  Her  face  and  form  would  have  been  notice 
able  anywhere  and  under  any  circumstances;  but  now  in 
contrast  with  the  unmodified  homeliness  of  her  parents 
and  brother  her  comeliness  was  almost  startling.  The 
others  seemed  to  harmonize  with  their  drab  surroundings, 
with  the  dull,  unattractive  house  and  its  furnishings,  but 
Lorelei  was  in  violent  opposition  to  everything  about  her. 

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She  wore  her  beauty  unconsciously,  too,  as  a  princess 
wears  the  purple  of  her  rank.  Neither  in  speech  nor  in 
look  did  she  show  a  trace  of  her  father's  fatuous  common- 
placeness,  and  she  gave  no  sign  of  her  mother's  coldly 
calculating  disposition.  Equally  the  girl  differed  from  her 
brother,  for  Jim  was  anemic,  underdeveloped,  sallow;  his 
only  mark  of  distinction  being  his  bright  and  impudent 
eye,  while  she  was  full-blooded,  healthy,  and  clean. 
Splendidly  distinctive,  from  her  crown  of  warm  amber 
hair  to  her  shapely,  slender  feet,  it  seemed  that  all  the 
hopes,  all  the  aspirations,  all  the  longings  of  bygone 
generations  of  Knights  had  flowered  in  her.  As  muddy 
waters  purify  themselves  in  running,  so  had  the  Knight 
blood,  coming  through  unpleasant  channels,  finally  clari 
fied  and  sweetened  itself  in  this  girl.  In  the  color  of  her 
eyes  she  resembled  neither  parent;  Mrs.  Knight's  were 
close -set  and  hard;  Peter's  shallow,  indefinite,  weak. 
Lorelei's  were  limpid  and  of  a  twilight  blue.  Her  single 
paternal  inheritance  was  a  smile  perhaps  a  trifle  too 
ready  and  too  meaningless.  Yet  it  was  a  pleasant  smile, 
indicative  of  a  disposition  toward  courtesy,  if  not  self- 
depreciation. 

But  there  all  resemblance  ceased.  Lorelei  Kn, 
mysteriously  different  from  her  kin ;  she  might  almost  b. . ,  . 
sprung  from  a  different  strain,  and  except  as  one  of  those 
"throwbacks"  which  sometimes  occur  in  a  mediocre  fam 
ily,  when  an  exotic  offspring  blooms  like  a  delicate  blos 
som  in  a  bed  of  weeds,  she  was  inexplicable.  Simple  liv 
ing  had  made  her  strong,  yet  she  remained  exquisite; 
behind  a  natural  and  a  deep  reserve  she  was  vibrant  with 
youth  and  spirits. 

In  the  doorway  she  hesitated  an  instant,  favoring  the 
group  with  her  shadowy,  impersonal  smile.  In  her  gaze 
there  was  a  faint  inquiry,  for  it  was  plain  that  she  had 
interrupted  a  serious  discussion.  She  came  forward  and 
rested  a  hand  upon  her  father's  thinly  haired  bullet- 

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head.  Peter  reached  up  and  took  it  in  his  own  moist 
palm. 

"We  were  just  talking  about  you,"  he  said. 

"Yes?"  The  smile  remained  as  the  girl's  touch  lin 
gered. 

"Your  ma  thinks  I'd  better  accept  that  New  York  offer 
on  your  account." 

"On  mine?     I  don't  understand." 

Peter  stroked  the  hand  in  his  clasp,  and  his  weak,  up 
turned  face  was  wrinkled  with  apprehension.  "She 
thinks  you  should  see  the  world  and — make  something  of 
yourself." 

"That  would  be  nice."  Lorelei's  lips  were  still  parted 
as  she  turned  toward  her  mother  in  some  bewilderment. 

"You'd  like  the  city,  wouldn't  you?"  Mrs.  Knight 
inquired. 

"Why,  yes;  I  suppose  so." 

"We're  poor — poorer  than  we've  ever  been.  Jim  will 
have  to  work,  and  so  will  you." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,  of  course;  but — I  don't  know  how 
to  do  anything.  I'm  afraid  I  won't  be  much  help  at 
first." 

"We'll  see  to  that.     Now,  run  along,  dearie." 

When  she  had  gone  Peter  gave  a  grunt  of  conviction. 

"She  is  pretty,"  he  acknowledged;  "pretty  as  a  picture, 
and  you  certainly  dress  her  well.  She'd  ought  to  make  a 
good  actress." 

Jim  echoed  him  enthusiastically.  "Pretty?  I'll  bet 
Bernhardt's  got  nothing  on  her  for  looks.  She'll  have  a 
brownstone  hut  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  an  air-tight  lim 
ousine  one  of  these  days,  see  if  she  don't." 

"When  do  you  plan  to  leave?"  faltered  the  father. 

Mrs.  Knight  answered  with  some  satisfaction:  "Re 
hearsals  commence  in  May." 


CHAPTER  II 

MR.  CAMBELL  POPE  was  a  cynic.  He  had  culti 
vated  a  superb  contempt  for  those  beliefs  which 
other  people  cherish;  he  rejoiced  in  an  open  rebellion 
against  convention,  and  manifested  this  hostility  in  an 
exaggerated  carelessness  of  dress  and  manner.  It  was 
perhaps  his  habit  of  thought  as  much  as  anything  else 
that  had  made  him  a  dramatic  critic ;  but  it  was  a  knack 
for  keen  analysis  and  a  natural,  caustic  wit  that  had  raised 
him  to  eminence  in  his  field.  Outwardly  he  was  a  sloven 
and  a  misanthrope;  inwardly  he  was  simple  and  rather 
boyish,  but  years  of  experience  in  a  box-office,  then  as 
advance  man  and  publicity  agent  for  a  circus,  and  finally 
as  a  Metropolitan  reviewer,  had  destroyed  his  illusions 
and  soured  his  taste  for  theatrical  life.  His  column  was 
widely  read;  his  name  was  known;  as  a  prophet  he  was 
uncanny,  hence  managers  treated  him  with  a  gingerly 
courtesy  not  always  quite  sincere. 

Most  men  attain  success  through  love  of  their  work; 
Mr.  Pope  had  become  an  eminent  critic  because  of  his 
hatred  for  the  drama  and  all  things  dramatic.  Nor  was 
he  any  more  enamoured  of  journalism,  being  in  truth  by 
nature  bucolic,  but  after  trying  many  occupations  and 
failing  in  all  of  them  he  had  returned  to  his  desk  after 
each  excursion  into  other  fields.  First-night  audiences 
knew  him  now,  and  had  come  to  look  for  his  thin,  sharp 
features.  His  shapeless,  wrinkled  suit  that  resembled  a 
sleeping-bag;  his  flannel  shirt,  always  tieless  and  frequent 
ly  collarless,  were  considered  attributes  of  genius;  and, 

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finding  New  York  to  be  amazingly  gullible,  he  took  a  cer 
tain  delight  in  accentuating  his  eccentricities.  At  es 
pecially  prominent  premieres  he  affected  a  sweater  under 
neath  his  coat,  but  that  was  his  nearest  approach  to  formal 
evening  dress.  Further  concession  to  fashion  he  made 
none. 

Owing  to  the  dearth  of  new  productions  this  summer, 
Pope  had  undertaken  a  series  of  magazine  articles  de 
scriptive  of  the  reigning  theatrical  beauties,  and,  while  he 
detested  women  in  general  and  the  painted  favorites  of 
Broadway  in  particular,  he  had  forced  himself  to  write 
the  common  laudatory  stuff  which  the  public  demanded. 
Only  once  had  he  given  free  rein  to  his  inclinations  and 
written  with  a  poisoned  pen.  To-night,  however,  as  he 
entered  the  stage  door  of  Bergman's  Circuit  Theater,  it 
was  with  a  different  intent. 

Regan,  the  stage-door  tender,  better  known  since  his 
vaudeville  days  as  "The  Judge,"  answered  his  greeting 
with  a  lugubrious  shake  of  a  bald  head. 

"I'm  a  sick  man,  Mr.  Pope.     Same  old  trouble." 

"M-m-m.     Kidneys,  isn't  it?" 

"No.  Rheumatism.  I'm  a  beehive  swarmin'  with 
pains." 

"To  be  sure.  It's  Hemphill,  the  door-man  at  the 
Columbus,  who  has  the  floating  kidney.  I  paid  for  his 
operation." 

"Hemphill.  Operation!  Ha!"  The  Judge  cackled 
in  a  voice  hoarse  from  alcoholic  excesses.  "He  bilked 
you,  Mr.  Pope.  He's  the  guy  that  put  the  kid  in  kidney. 
There's  nothing  wrong  with  him.  He  could  do  his  old 
acrobatic  turn  if  he  wanted  to." 

"I  remember  the  act." 

"Me  an'  Greenberg  played  the  same  bill  with  him 
twenty  years  ago."  The  Judge  leaned  forward,  and  a 
strong  odor  of  whisky  enveloped  the  caller.  "Could  you 
slip  me  four  bits  for  some  liniment?" 

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The  critic  smiled.  "There's  a  dollar,  Regan.  Try 
Scotch  for  a  change.  It's  better  for  you  than  these  cheap 
blends.  And  don't  breathe  toward  a  lamp,  or  you'll  ignite. ' ' 

The  Judge  laughed  wheezingly.  "I  do  take  a  drop 
now  and  then." 

"A  drop?  You'd  better  take  a  tumble,  or  Bergman 
will  let  you  out." 

"See  here,  you  know  all  the  managers,  Mr.  Pope. 
Can't  you  find  a  job  for  a  swell  dame?"  the  Judge  in 
quired,  anxiously. 

"Who  is  she?" 

"Lottie  Devine.  She's  out  with  the  'Peach  Blossom 
Girls.'" 

"Lottie  Devine.     Why,  she's  your  wife,  isn't  she?" 

"Sure,  and  playing  the  'Wheel'  when  she  belongs  in 
musical  comedy.  She  dances  as  good  as  she  did  when  we 
worked  together — after  she  gets  warmed  up — and  she 
looks  great  in  tights — swellest  legs  in  burlesque,  Mr. 
Pope.  Can't  you  place  her?" 

"She's  a  trifle  old,  I'm  afraid." 

"Huh!  She  wigs  up  a  lot  better'n  some  of  the  squabs 
in  this  troupe.  Believe  me,  she'd  fit  any  chorus." 

"Why  don't  you  ask  Bergman?" 

Mr.  Regan  shook  his  hairless  head.  "He's  dippy  on 
'types.'  This  show's  full  of  'em:  real  blondes,  real 
brunettes,  bold  and  dashin'ones,  tall  and  statelies,  blushers, 
shrinkers,  laughers,  and  sadlings.  He  won't  stand  for 
make-up;  he  wants  'em  with  the  dew  on.  They've  got 
to  look  natural  for  Bergman.  That's  some  of  'em  now." 
He  nodded  toward  a  group  of  young,  fresh-cheeked  girls 
who  had  entered  the  stage  door  and  were  hurrying  down 
the  hall.  "There  ain't  a  Hepnerized  ensemble  in  the 
whole  first  act,  and  they  wear  talcum  powder  instead  of 
tights.  It's  dimples  he  wants,  not  'fats.'  How  them 
girls  stand  the  draught  I  don't  know.  It  would  kill  an 
old-timer." 

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"I've  come  to  interview  one  of  Bergman's  'types'; 
that  new  beauty,  Miss  Knight.  Is  she  here  yet?" 

"Sure;  her  and  the  back-drop,  too.  She  carries  the 
old  woman  for  scenery."  Mr.  Regan  took  the  caller's 
card  and  shuffled  away,  leaving  Pope  to  watch  the  stream 
of  performers  as  they  entered  and  made  for  their  quarters. 
There  were  many  women  in  the  number,  and  all  of  them 
were  pretty.  Most  of  them  were  overdressed  in  the  ex 
tremes  of  fashion ;  a  few  quietly  garbed  ladies  and  gentle 
men  entered  the  lower  dressing-rooms  reserved  for  the 
principals. 

It  was  no  novel  sight  to  the  reviewer,  whose  theatrical 
apprenticeship  had  been  thorough,  yet  it  never  failed  to 
awaken  his  deepest  cynicism.  Somewhere  within  him 
was  a  puritanical  streak,  and  he  still  cherished  youthful 
memories.  He  reflected  now  that  it  was  he  who  had  laid 
the  foundation  for  the  popularity  of  the  girl  he  had  come 
to  interview;  for  he  had  picked  her  out  of  the  chorus  of 
the  preceding  Revue  and  commented  so  enthusiastically 
upon  her  beauty  that  this  season  had  witnessed  her  ad 
vancement  to  a  speaking  part.  Through  Pope's  column 
attention  had  been  focused  upon  Bergman's  latest  ac 
quisition;  and  once  New  York  had  paused  to  look  care 
fully  at  this  fresh  young  new-comer,  her  fame  had  spread. 
But  he  had  never  met  the  girl  herself,  and  he  wondered 
idly  what  effect  success  had  had  upon  her.  A  total  ab 
sence  of  scandal  had  argued  against  any  previous  theatri 
cal  experience. 

Meanwhile  he  exchanged  greetings  with  the  star — a 
clear-eyed  man  with  the  face  of  a  scholar  and  the  limbs 
of  an  athlete.  The  latter  had  studied  for  the  law;  he 
had  the  drollest  legs  in  the  business,  and  his  salary  ex 
ceeded  that  of  Supreme  Court  Justice.  They  were  talk 
ing  when  Mr.  Regan  returned  to  tell  the  interviewer  that 
he  would  be  received. 

Pope  followed  to  the  next  floor  and  entered  a  brightly 
2  17 


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lighted,  overheated  dressing-room,  where  Lorelei  and  her 
mother  were  waiting.  It  was  a  glaring,  stuffy  cubby 
hole  ventilated  by  means  of  the  hall  door  and  a  tiny 
window  opening  from  the  lavatory  at  the  rear.  Along 
the  sides  ran  mirrors,  beneath  which  was  fixed  a  wide 
make-up  shelf.  From  the  ceiling  depended  several  un 
shaded  incandescent  globes  which  flooded  the  place  with 
a  desert  heat  and  radiance.  An  attempt  had  been  made 
to  give  the  room  at  least  a  semblance  of  coolness  by  hang 
ing  an  attractively  figured  cretonne  over  the  entrance  and 
over  the  wardrobe  hooks  fixed  in  the  rear  wall;  but  the 
result  was  hardly  successful.  The  same  material  had 
been  utilized  to  cover  the  shelves  which  were  littered  with 
a  bewildering  assortment  of  make-up  tins,  cold-cream 
cans,  rouge  and  powder  boxes,  whitening  bottles,  wig- 
blocks,  and  the  multifarious  disordered  accumulations  of 
a  dressing-room.  The  walls  were  half  hidden  behind 
photographs,  impaled  upon  pins,  like  entomological  speci 
mens;  photographs  were  thrust  into  the  mirror  frames, 
they  were  propped  against  the  heaps  of  tins  and  boxes 
or  hidden  beneath  the  confusion  of  toilet  articles.  But 
the  collection  was  not  limited  to  this  variety  of  specimen. 
One  section  of  the  wall  was  devoted  to  telegraph  and 
cable  forms,  bearing  messages  of  felicitation  at  the  opening 
of  "The  Revue  of  1913."  A  zoologist  would  have  found 
the  display  uninteresting;  but  a  society  reporter  would 
have  reveled  in  the  names — and  especially  in  the  senti 
ments — inscribed  upon  the  yellow  sheets.  Some  were  ad 
dressed  to  Lorelei  Knight,  others  to  Lilas  Lynn,  her  room 
mate. 

Pope  found  Lorelei  completely  dressed,  in  expectation 
of  his  arrival.  She  wore  the  white  and  silver  first-act 
costume  of  the  Fairy  Princess.  Both  she  and  her  mother 
were  plainly  nonplussed  at  the  appearance  of  their  caller; 
but  Mrs.  Knight  recovered  quickly  from  the  shock  and 
said  agreeably: 

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"Lorelei  was  frightened  to  death  at  your  message  yes 
terday.  She  was  almost  afraid  to  let  you  interview  her 
after  what  you  wrote  about  Adoree  Demorest." 

Pope  shrugged.  "Your  daughter  is  altogether  differ 
ent  to  the  star  of  the  Palace  Garden,  Mrs.  Knight.  Dem 
orest  trades  openly  upon  her  notoriety  and — I  don't  like 
bad  women.  New  York  never  would  have  taken  her  up 
if  she  hadn't  been  advertised  as  the  wickedest  woman 
in  Europe,  for  she  can  neither  act,  sing,  nor  dance.  How 
ever,  she's  become  the  rage,  so  I  had  to  include  her  in  my 
series  of  articles.  Now,  Miss  Knight  has  made  a  legiti 
mate  success  as  far  as  she  has  gone." 

He  turned  to  the  girl  herself,  who  was  smiling  at  him 
as  she  had  smiled  since  his  entrance.  He  did  not  wonder 
at  the  prominence  her  beauty  had  brought  her,  for  even 
at  this  close  range  her  make-up  could  not  disguise  her 
loveliness.  The  lily  had  been  painted,  to  be  sure,  but 
the  sacrilege  was  not  too  noticeable;  and  he  knew  that 
the  cheeks  beneath  their  rouge  were  faintly  colored,  that 
the  lashes  under  the  heavy  beading  were  long  and  dark 
and  sweeping.  As  for  her  other  features,  no  paint  could 
conceal  their  perfection.  Her  forehead  was  linelessly 
serene,  her  brows  were  straight  and  too  well-defined  to 
need  the  pencil.  As  for  her  eyes,  too  much  had  been 
written  about  them  already;  they  had  proven  the  despair 
of  many  men,  or  so  rumor  had  it.  He  saw  that  they  had 
depths  and  shadows  and  glints  of  color  that  he  could  not 
readily  define.  Her  nose,  pronounced  perfect  by  experts 
on  noses,  seemed  faultless  indeed.  Her  mouth  was  no 
tiny  cupid's  bow,  but  generous  enough  for  character. 
Of  course,  the  lips  were  glaringly  red  now,  but  the  ex 
pression  was  none  the  less  sweet  and  friendly. 

"There's  nothing  'legitimate'  about  musical  shows," 
she  told  him,  in  reply  to  his  last  remark,  "and  I  can't 
act  or  sing  or  dance  as  well  as  Miss  Demorest." 

"You  don't  need  to;  just  let  the  public  rest  its  eyes 

19 


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on  you  and  it  will  be  satisfied — anyhow,  it  should  be.  Of 
course,  everybody  flatters  you.  Has  success  turned  your 
head?" 

Mrs.  Knight  answered  for  her  daughter.  "Lorelei  has 
too  much  sense  for  that.  She  succeeded  easily,  but  she 
isn't  spoiled." 

Then,  in  response  to  a  question  by  Pope,  Lorelei  told 
him  something  of  her  experience.  "We're  up-state  people, 
you  know.  Mr.  Bergman  was  looking  for  types,  and  I 
seemed  to  suit,  so  I  got  an  engagement  at  once.  The 
newspapers  began  to  mention  me,  and  when  he  produced 
this  show  he  had  the  part  of  the  Fairy  Princess  written 
in  for  me.  It's  really  very  easy,  and  I  don't  do  much 
except  wear  the  gowns  and  speak  a  few  lines." 

"You're  one  of  the  principals,"  her  mother  said,  chid- 
ingly. 

"I  suppose  you're  ambitious?"  Pope  put  in. 

Again  the  mother  answered.  "Indeed  she  is,  and  she's 
bound  to  succeed.  Of  course,  she  hasn't  had  any  ex 
perience  to  speak  of,  but  there's  more  than  one  manager 
that's  got  his  eye  on  her."  The  listener  inwardly  cringed. 
"She  could  be  starred  easy,  and  she  will  be,  too,  in  an 
other  season." 

"Then  you  must  be  studying  hard,  Miss  Knight?" 

Lorelei  shook  her  head. 

"Not  even  voice  culture?" 

"No." 

"Nor  dancing?    Nor  acting?" 

"No." 

"She  has  so  little  time.  You've  no  idea  how  popular 
she  is,"  twittered  Mrs.  Knight. 

Pope  fancied  the  girl  herself  flushed  under  his  inquir 
ing  eye;  at  any  rate,  her  gaze  wavered  and  she  seemed 
vexed  by  her  mother's  explanation.  He,  too,  resented 
Mrs.  Knight's  share  in  the  conversation.  He  did  not  like 
the  elder  woman's  face,  nor  her  voice,  nor  her  manner. 

20 


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She  impressed  him  as  another  theatrical  type  with  which 
he  was  familiar — the  stage  mama.  He  found  himself 
marveling  at  the  dissimilarity  of  the  two  women. 

"Of  course,  a  famous  beauty  does  meet  a  lot  of  people," 
he  said.  "Tell  me  what  you  think  of  our  flourishing  lit 
tle  city  and  our  New  York  men." 

But  Lorelei  raised  a  slender  hand. 

"Not  for  worlds.  Besides,  you're  making  fun  of  me 
now.  I  was  afraid  to  see  you,  and  I'd  feel  terribly  if  you 
printed  anything  I  really  told  you.  Good  interviewers 
never  do  that.  They  come  and  talk  about  nothing,  then 
go  away  and  put  the  most  brilliant  things  into  your  mouth. 
You  are  considered  a  very  dangerous  person,  Mr.  Pope." 

"You're  thinking  of  my  story  about  that  Demorest 
woman  again,"  he  laughed. 

"Is  she  really  as  bad  as  you  described  her?" 

"I  don't  know,  never  having  met  the  lady.  I  wouldn't 
humiliate  myself  by  a  personal  interview,  so  I  built  a 
story  on  the  Broadway  gossip.  Inasmuch  as  she  goes  in 
for  notoriety,  I  gave  her  some  of  the  best  I  had  in  stock. 
Her  photographer  did  the  rest." 

The  door  curtains  parted,  and  Lilas  Lynn,  a  slim, 
black-eyed  young  woman,  entered.  She  greeted  Pope 
cordially  as  she  removed  her  hat  and  handed  it  to  the 
woman  who  acted  as  dresser  for  the  two  occupants  of  the 
room. 

"I'm  late,  as  usual,"  she  said.  "But  don't  leave  on 
my  account."  She  disappeared  into  the  lavatory,  and 
emerged  a  moment  later  in  a  combing-jacket ;  seating  her 
self  before  her  own  mirrors,  she  dove  into  a  cosmetic  can. 
and  vigorously  applied  a  priming  coat  to  her  features, 
while  the  dresser  drew  her  hair  back  and  secured  it  tightly 
with  a  wig-band.  "Lorelei's  got  her  nerve  to  talk  to  you 
after  the  panning  you  gave  Demorest,"  she  continued. 
"Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself  to  strike  a  defenseless 
star?" 

21 


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Pope  nodded.  "I  am,  and  I'm  ashamed  of  my  entire 
sex  when  I  hear  of  them  flocking  to  the  Palace  Garden 
just  to  see  a  woman  who  has  nothing  to  distinguish  her 
but  a  reputation  for  vileness." 

"Did  you  see  the  crown  jewels — the  King's  Cabachon 
rubies?"  Lorelei  asked. 

"Only  from  the  front.  I  dare  say  they're  as  counter 
feit  as  she  is." 

Miss  Lynn  turned,  revealing  a  countenance  as  shiny 
as  that  of  an  Eskimo  belle.  With  her  war-paint  only  half 
applied  and  her  hair  secured  closely  to  her  small  head, 
she  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  the  dashing  "Countess" 
of  the  program. 

"Oh,  they're  real  enough.     I  got  that  straight." 

Campbell  Pope  scoffed. 

"Isn't  it  true  about  the  King  of  Seldovia?  Didn't  she 
wreck  his  throne?"  eagerly  queried  Mrs.  Knight. 

"I  never  met  the  King,  and  I  haven't  examined  his 
throne.  But,  you  know,  kings  can  do  no  wrong,  and 
thrones  are  easily  mended." 

But  Mrs.  Knight  was  insistent;  her  eyes  glittered,  her 
sharp  nose  was  thrust  forward  inquisitively.  "They  say 
she  draws  two  thousand  a  week,  and  won't  go  to  supper 
with  a  man  for  less  than  five  hundred  dollars.  She  says 
if  fellows  want  to  be  seen  in  public  with  her  they'll  have 
to  pay  for  it,  and  she's  right.  Of  course,  she's  terribly 
bad,  but  you  must  admit  she's  done  mighty  well  for  her 
self." 

"We'll  have  a  chance  to  see  her  to-night,"  announced 
Lilas.  "Mr.  Hammon  is  giving  a  big  supper  to  some  of 
his  friends  and  we're  going — Lorelei  and  I.  Demorest  is 
down  for  her  'Danse  de  Nuit.'  They  say  it's  the  limit." 

"Hammon,  the  steel  man?"  queried  the  critic,  curi 
ously. 

"Sure.  There's  only  one  Hammon.  But  nix  on  the 
newspaper  story;  this  is  a  private  affair." 

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"Never  let  us  speak  ill  of  a  poor  Pittsburg  million 
aire,"  laughed  Pope.  "Scandal  must  never  darken  the 
soot  of  that  village."  He  turned  as  Slosson,  the  press- 
agent  of  the  show,  entered  with  a  bundle  of  photographs. 

"Here  are  the  new  pictures  of  Lorelei  for  your  story, 
old  man,"  Mr.  Slosson  said.  "Bergman  will  appreciate 
the  boost  for  one  of  his  girls.  Help  yourself  to  those  you 
want.  If  you  need  any  more  stuff  I'll  supply  it.  Blush 
ing  country  lass  just  out  of  the  alfalfa  belt — first  appear 
ance  on  any  stage — instantaneous  hit,  and  a  record  for 
pulchritude  in  an  aggregation  where  the  homeliest  mem 
ber  is  a  Helen  of  Troy.  Every  appearance  a  riot ;  stage- 
door  Johns  standing  on  their  heads ;  members  of  our  best 
families  dying  to  lead  her  to  the  altar;  under  five-year 
contract  with  Bergman,  and  refuses  to  marry  until  the 
time's  up.  Delancey  Page,  the  artist,  wants  to  paint  her, 
and  says  she's  the  perfect  American  type  at  last.  Say, 
Bergman  can  certainly  pick  'em,  can't  he?  I'll  frame  it 
for  a  special  cop  at  the  back  door,  detailed  to  hold  off  the 
matrimony  squad  of  society  youths,  if  you  can  use  it." 

"Don't  go  to  the  trouble,"  Pope  hastily  deprecated. 
"I  know  the  story.  Now  I'm  going  to  leave  and  let 
Miss  Lynn  dress." 

"Don't  go  on  my  account,"  urged  Lilas.  "This  room 
is  like  a  subway  station,  and  I've  got  so  I  could  'change' 
in  Bryant  Park  at  noon  and  never  shock  a  policeman." 

"You  won't  say  anything  mean  about  us,  will  you?" 
Mrs.  Knight  implored.  "In  this  business  a  girl's  reputa 
tion  is  all  she  has." 

"I  promise."  Pope  held  out  his  hand  to  Lorelei,  and 
as  she  took  it  her  lips  parted  in  her  ever-ready  smile. 

"Nice  girl,  that,"  the  critic  remarked,  as  he  and  Slos 
son  descended  the  stairs. 

"Which  one — Lorelei,  Lilas,  or  the  female  gorilla?" 

"How  did  she  come  to  choose  that  for  a  mother?" 
muttered  Pope. 

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"One  of  Nature's  inscrutable  mysteries.  But  wait. 
Have  you  seen  brother  Jim?" 

"No.     Who's  he?" 

" His  mother's  son.  Need  we  say  more?  He's  a  great 
help  to  the  family,  for  he  keeps  'em  from  getting  too 
proud  over  Lorelei.  He  sells  introductions  to  his  sister." 

Campbell  Pope's  exclamation  was  lost  in  a  babble  of 
voices  as  a  bevy  of  "Swimming  Girls"  descended  from  the 
enchanted  regions  above  and  scurried  out  upon  the  stage. 
Through  the  double  curtain  the  orchestra  could  be  faintly 
heard;  a  voice  was  crying,  "Places." 

"Some  Soul  Kissers  with  this  troupe,  eh?"  remarked 
Slosson,  when  the  scampering  figures  had  disappeared. 

"Yes.  Bergman  has  made  a  fortune  out  of  this  kind 
of  show.  He's  a  friend  to  the  'Tired  Business  Man.'" 

"Speaking  of  the  weary  Wall  Street  workers,  there  will 
be  a  dozen  of  our  ribbon-winners  at  that  Hammon  supper 
to-night.  Twelve  'Bergman  Beauties.'  Twelve;  count 
'em!  Any  time  you  want  to  pull  off  a  classy  party  for 
some  of  your  bachelor  friends  let  me  know,  and  I'll  supply 
the  dames — at  one  hundred  dollars  a  head — and  guarantee 
their  manners.  They're  all  trained  to  terrapin,  and  know 
how  to  pick  the  proper  forks." 

"One  hundred?  Last  season  a  girl  was  lucky  to  get 
fifty  dollars  as  a  banquet  favor;  but  the  cost  of  living 
rises  nightly.  No  wonder  Hammon's  against  the  income 
tax." 

"Yes,  and  that's  exclusive  of  the  regulation  favors. 
There's  a  good  story  in  this  party  if  you  could  get  the 
men's  names." 

Pope's  thin  lip  curled,  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"I  write  theatrical  stuff,"  he  said,  shortly,  "because 
I  have  to,  not  because  I  like  to.  I  try  to  keep  it  reason 
ably  clean." 

Slosson  was  instantly  apologetic.  "Oh,  I  don't  mean 
there's  anything  wrong  about  this  affair.  Hammon  is 

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•entertaining  a  crowd  of  other  steel  men,  and  a  stag  supper 
is  either  dull  or  devilish,  so  he  has  invited  a  good-looking 
partner  for  each  male  guest.  It  '11  be  thoroughly  refined, 
and  it's  being  done  every  night." 

"I  know  it  is.  Tell  me,  is  Lorelei  Knight  a  regular — 
er — frequenter  of  these  affairs?" 

"Sure.     It's  part  of  the  graft." 

"I  see." 

"She  has  to  piece  out  her  salary  like  the  other  girls. 
Why,  her  whole  family  is  around  her  neck — mother, 
brother,  and  father.  Old  man  Knight  was  run  over  by 
a  taxi-cab  last  summer.  It  didn't  hurt  the  machine,  but 
he's  got  a  broken  back,  or  something.  Too  bad  it  wasn't 
brother  Jimmy.  You  must  meet  him,  by  the  way.  I 
never  heard  of  Lorelei's  doing  anything  really — bad." 

For  the  moment  Campbell  Pope  made  no  reply.  Mean 
while  a  great  wave  of  singing  flooded  the  regions  at  the 
back  of  the  theater  as  the  curtain  rose  and  the  chorus 
broke  into  sudden  sound.  When  he  did  speak  it  was  with 
unusual  bitterness. 

"It's  the  rottenest  business  in  the  world,  Slosson. 
Two  years  ago  she  was  a  country  girl;  now  she's  a  Broad 
way  belle.  How  long  will  she  last,  d'you  think?" 

"She's  too  beautiful  to  last  long,"  agreed  the  press- 
agent,  soberly,  "especially  now  that  the  wolves  are  on 
her  trail.  But  her  danger  isn't  so  much  from  the  people 
she  meets  with  as  the  people  she  eats  with.  That  family 
of  hers  would  drive  any  girl  to  the  limit.  They  intend 
to  cash  in  on  her;  the  mother  says  so." 

"And  they  will,  too.  She  can  have  her  choice  of  the 
wealthy  rounders." 

"Don't  get  me  wrong,"  Slosson  hastened  to  qualify. 
"She's  square;  understand?" 

"Of  course;  'object,  matrimony.'  It's  the  old  story, 
and  her  mother  will  see  to  the  ring  and  the  orange  blos 
soms.  But  what's  the  difference,  after  all,  Slosson  ?  It  '11 

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be  hell  for  her,  and  a  sale  to  the  highest  bidder,  either 
way." 

"Queer  little  gink,"  the  press-agent  reflected,  as  he 
returned  to  the  front  of  the  house.  "I  wish  he  wore 
stiff  collars;  I'd  like  to  take  him  home  for  dinner." 

As  Pope  passed  out  through  the  stage  door  the  Judge 
called  hoarsely  after  him: 

"You'll  keep  your  eye  skinned  for  a  job  for  Lottie, 
won't  you?  Remember,  the  swellest  legs  in  burlesque." 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  his  summary  of  Lorelei's  present  life  Slosson  had 
not  been  far  wrong.  Many  changes  had  come  to  the 
Knights  during  the  past  two  years — changes  of  habit,  of 
thought,  and  of  outlook;  the  entire  family  had  found  it 
necessary  to  alter  their  system  of  living.  But  it  was  in 
the  girl  that  the  changes  showed  most.  When  Mrs. 
Knight  had  forecast  an  immediate  success  for  her  daugh 
ter  she  had  spoken  with  the  wisdom  of  a  Cassandra. 
Bergman  had  taken  one  look  at  Lorelei  upon  their  first 
meeting,  then  his  glance  had  quickened.  She  had  proved 
to  have  at  least  an  average  singing  -  voice ;  her  figure 
needed  no  comment.  Her  inexperience  had  been  the 
strongest  argument  in  her  favor,  since  Bergman's  shows 
were  famous  for  their  new  faces.  The  result  was  that  he 
signed  her  promptly,  and  mother  and  daughter  had  walked 
out  of  his  office  quite  unconscious  of  having  accomplished 
the  unusual.  At  first  the  city  had  seemed  strange  and 
bewildering,  and  Lorelei  had  suffered  pangs  at  the  mem 
ory  of  Vale,  for  at  her  age  the  roots  of  association  strike 
deep;  but  in  a  short  time  the  novelty  of  her  new  life 
proved  an  anodyne  and  deadened  acute  regrets,  while 
the  vague  hazard  of  it  all  kept  her  at  an  agreeable  pitch 
of  excitement. 

Moreover,  she  took  naturally  to  the  work,  finding  it 
more  like  play ;  and,  being  quite  free  from  girlish  timidity, 
she  felt  no  stage-fright,  even  upon  her  first  appearance. 
Her  recognition  had  followed  quickly — it  was  impossible 
to  hide  such  perfection  of  loveliness  as  hers — and  the 

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publicity  pleased  her.  In  due  course  rival  managers  be 
gan  to  make  offers,  which  Mrs.  Knight,  rising  nobly  to 
the  first  test  of  her  business  ability,  used  as  levers  to  raise 
her  daughter's  salary  and  to  pry  out  of  Bergman  a  five- 
year  contract.  The  role  of  the  Fairy  Princess  was  a 
result. 

Thus  it  was  that  without  conscious  effort,  without  even 
a  proof  of  merit  beyond  her  appearance,  Lorelei  had  arrived 
at  the  point  where  further  advancement  depended  upon 
study  and  hard  work;  but,  since  these  formed  no  part  of 
the  family  program,  she  remained  idle  while  Mrs.  Knight 
and  Jim  arranged  so  many  demands  upon  her  time  that 
she  had  no  leisure  for  serious  endeavors,  even  had  she 
desired  it.  Proficiency  in  stage-craft  of  any  sort  comes 
only  at  the  expense  of  peonage,  and  this  girl  was  being 
groomed  solely  for  matrimony. 

The  principals  who  topped  the  Bergman  bill  were 
artists — men  and  women  who  had  climbed  through  years 
of  patient  effort;  toward  their  subordinates  they  main 
tained  an  aloofness  that  is  peculiar  to  the  show  business. 
They  moved  in  a  world  apart  from  the  chorus:  the  two 
classes  impinged  briefly  eight  times  a  week,  but  outside 
the  theater  they  never  saw  each  other.  Even  Labaudie, 
the  doll-like  danseuse,  looked  down  upon  Lorelei  and 
Lilas  almost  as  she  looked  down  upon  the  members  of 
her  ballet.  Out  of  all  the  big  company  there  were  per 
haps  a  half-dozen  chorus  men  and  women  who  had  eyes 
definitely  fixed  upon  a  stage  career;  the  rest,  like  Lorelei 
and  Lilas,  regarded  the  work  simply  as  an  easy  means  of 
livelihood. 

The  theatrical  profession  is  peculiar  to  itself.  It  is  a 
world  with  customs,  habits,  and  ambitions  differing  from 
those  of  any  other  sphere.  That  division  of  stage  life  to 
which  Lorelei  Knight  belonged — that  army  of  men  and 
women  from  shows  like  Bergman's — constitutes  a  still 
more  distinctive  community — a  community,  moreover, 

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that  is  characteristic  of  New  York  alone.  Its  code  is  of 
its  own  making;  its  habits  of  life  are  as  individual  as  its 
figures  of  speech.  Although  at  first  all  this  bewildered 
the  country  girl,  at  length  she  had  come  to  adopt  the  new 
ways  as  a  matter  of  course.  From  the  association  she 
had  learned  much.  She  had  learned  how  to  reap  the 
fruits  of  popularity,  how  to  take  without  giving,  how  to 
profit  without  sacrifice;  and  under  her  mother's  in 
fluence  she  was  not  allowed  to  forget  what  she  had 
learned. 

With  the  support  of  the  family  entirely  upon  her 
shoulders,  she  had  been  driven  to  many  shifts  in  order  to 
stretch  her  salary  to  livable  proportions.  Peter  was  a 
total  burden,  and  Jim  either  refused  or  was  unable  to 
contribute  toward  the  common  fund,  while  the  mother 
devoted  her  time  almost  solely  to  managing  Lorelei's 
affairs.  Presents  were  showered  upon  the  girl,  and  these 
Mrs.  Knight  converted  into  cash.  Conspicuous  stage 
characters  are  always  welcome  at  the  prominent  cafe's; 
hence  Lorelei  never  had  to  pay  for  food  or  drink  when 
alone,  and  when  escorted  she  received  a  commission  on 
the  money  spent.  She  was  well  paid  for  posing:  adver 
tisements  of  toilet  articles,  face  creams,  dentifrices,  and 
the  like,  especially  if  accompanied  by  testimonials,  yield 
ed  something.  In  the  commercial  exploitation  of  her 
daughter  Mrs.  Knight  developed  something  like  genius. 
She  arranged  for  paid  interviews  and  special  beauty  arti 
cles  in  the  Sunday  supplements;  she  saw  to  it  that  Lore 
lei's  features  became  identified  with  certain  makes  of 
biscuits,  petticoats,  chewing-gums,  chocolates,  cameras, 
short-vamp  shoes;  and  bath-tubs.  But  of  all  the  so-called 
"grafts"  open  to  handsome  girls  in  her  business  the 
quickest  and  best  returns  came  from  prodigal  entertainers 
like  Jarvis  Hammon. 

As  Lorelei  and  her  companion  left  their  taxi-cabs  and 
entered  Proctor's  Hotel,  shortly  before  midnight,  they 

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were  met  by  a  head  waiter  and  shown  into  an  ornate 
ivory-and-gold  elevator  which  lifted  them  noiselessly  to 
an  upper  floor.  They  made  their  exit  into  a  deep-car 
peted  hall,  at  the  end  of  which  two  splendid  creatures  in 
the  panoply  of  German  field-marshals  stood  guard  over 
one  of  the  smaller  banquet-rooms. 

Hammon  himself  greeted  the  girls  when  they  had  sur 
rendered  their  wraps,  and,  after  his  introduction  to  Lore 
lei,  engaged  Lilas  in  earnest  conversation. 

Lorelei  watched  him  curiously.  She  saw  a  powerfully 
built  gray-haired  man,  whose  vigor  age  had  not  impaired. 
In  face  he  was  perhaps  fifty  years  old,  in  body  he  was 
much  less.  He  was  the  typical  forceful  New  York  man 
of  affairs,  carefully  groomed,  perhaps  a  little  inclined  to 
stoutness.  By  this  time  millionaires  had  lost  their 
novelty  for  the  girl.  She  had  met  some  who  were  more 
distinguished  in  appearance  than  this  man,  but  never 
one  who  seemed  possessed  of  more  nervous  energy  and 
virility.  Jarvis  Hammon  had  a  bold,  incisive  manner 
that  was  compelling  and  stamped  him  as  a  big  man  in 
more  ways  than  one.  Playfully  he  pinched  Lilas's  cheek, 
then  turned  with  a  smile  to  say: 

"You'll  pardon  us  for  whispering,  won't  you,  Miss 
Knight?  You  see,  Lilas  got  up  this  little  party,  and  I've 
been  waiting  to  consult  her  about  some  of  the  details. 
Of  course,  she  was  late,  as  usual.  However" — he  ran 
an  admiring  eye  over  the  two  girls — "the  time  wasn't 
wasted,  I  see.  My!  How  lovely'  you  both  look!" 

Taking  an  arm  of  each,  he  swept  them  toward  a  re 
ception-room  from  which  issued  noisy  laughter. 

"Awfully  good  of  you  to  come,  Miss  Knight.  I  hope 
you'll  find  my  friends  agreeable  and  enjoy  yourself." 

Perhaps  twenty  men  in  evening  dress  and  as  many 
elaborately  gowned  young  women  were  gossiping  and 
smoking  as  the  last  comers  appeared.  Some  one  raised 
a  vigorous  complaint  at  the  host's  tardiness,  but  Hammon 

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laughed  a  rejoinder,  then  gave  a  signal,  whereupon  fold 
ing-doors  at  the  end  of  the  room  were  thrown  back.  From 
within  an  orchestra  struck  up  a  popular  rag-time  air,  and 
those  nearest  the  banquet-hall  moved  toward  it.  A 
girl  whom  Lorelei  recognized  as  a  fellow-member  of  the 
Revue  danced  up  to  her  escort  with  arms  extended,  and 
the  two  turkey-trotted  into  the  larger  room. 

Hammon  was  introducing  two  of  his  friends — one  a 
languid,  middle-aged  man  who  was  curled  up  in  a  deep 
chair  with  a  cigarette  between  his  fingers;  the  other  a 
large-featured  person  with  a  rumbling  voice.  The  men 
had  been  arguing  earnestly,  oblivious  of  the  confusion 
around  them;  but  now  the  former  dropped  his  cigarette, 
uncoiled  his  long  form,  and,  rising,  bowed  courteously. 
His  appearance  as  he  faced  Lorelei  was  prepossessing, 
and  she  breathed  a  thanksgiving  as  she  took  his  arm. 

Hammon  clapped  the  other  gentleman  upon  the 
shoulder,  crying:  "The  rail  market  will  take  care  of  it 
self  until  to  -  morrow,  Hannibal.  What  is  more  to  the 
point,  I  saw  your  supper  partner  flirting  with  'Handsome 
Dan'  Avery.  Better  find  her  quick." 

Lorelei  recognized  the  deep-voiced  man  as  Hannibal 
C.  Wharton,  one  of  the  dominant  figures  in  the  Steel 
Syndicate;  she  knew  him  instantly  from  his  newspaper 
pictures.  The  man  beside  her,  however,  was  a  stranger, 
and  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  some  curiosity.  He 
was  studying  her  with  manifest  admiration,  despite  the 
fact  that  his  lean  feattfres  were  cast  in  a  sardonic  mold. 

"It  is  a  pleasure  to  meet  a  celebrity  like  you,  Miss 
Knight,"  he  murmured.  "All  New  York  is  at  your  feet, 
I  understand.  I'm  deeply  indebted  to  Hammon.  Bless 
ings  on  such  a  host!" 

"Oh,  don't  be  hasty.  You  may  dislike  me  furiously 
before  the  evening  is  over.  He  does  things  in  a  magnifi 
cent  way,  doesn't  he?  I'm  sure  this  is  going  to  be  a 
splendid  party." 


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As  they  entered  the  banquet-hall  she  gave  a  little  cry 
of  pleasure,  for  it  was  evident  that  Harnrnon,  noted  as 
he  was  for  a  lavish  expenditure,  had  outdone  himself  this 
time.  The  whole  room  had  been  transformed  into  a 
bower  of  roses,  great,  climbing  bushes,  heavy  with  blooms; 
masses  of  cool,  green  ivy  hid  the  walls  from  floor  to  ceiling 
and  were  supported  upon  cunningly  wrought  trellises 
through  which  hidden  lights  glowed  softly.  In  certain 
nooks  gleamed  marble  statuettes  so  placed  as  to  heighten 
the  effect  of  space  and  to  carry  out  the  idea  of  a  Roman 
garden. 

The  table,  a  horseshoe  of  silver  and  white,  of  glittering 
plate  and  sparkling  cut-glass,  faced  a  rustic  stage  which 
occupied  one  end  of  the  room;  occupying  the  inner  arc 
of  the  half -circle  was  a  wide  but  shallow  stone  fountain , 
upon  the  surface  of  which  floated  large-leaved  Egyptian 
pond-lilies.  Fat-bellied  goldfish  with  filmy  fins,  and  tails 
like  iridescent  wedding  trains,  propelled  themselves  in 
dolently  about.  Two  dimpled  cupids  strained  at  a  mar 
ble  cornucopia,  out  of  which  trickled  a  stream  of  water, 
its  whisper  drowned  now  by  the  noisy  admiration  of  the 
guests. 

But  the  surprising  feature  of  the  decorating  scheme 
was  not  apparent  at  first  glance.  Through  the  bewilder 
ing  riot  of  greenery  had  been  woven  an  almost  invisible 
netting,  and  the  space  behind  formed  a  prison  for  birds, 
and  butterflies.  Where  they  had  come  from  or  at  what 
expense  they  had  been  procured  it  was  impossible  to 
conceive.  But,  disturbed  by  the  commotion,  the  feathered 
creatures  twittered  and  fluttered  against  the  netting  in  a. 
panic  which  drew  attention  to  them  even  if  it  did  not 
wholly  convey  the  illusion  of  a  woodland  scene.  As  for 
the  butterflies,  no  artificial  light  could  deceive  them,  and 
they  clung  with  closed  wings  to  leaves  and  branches,  only 
now  and  then  displaying  their  full  giory  in  a  sleepy  pro 
test.  There  were  scores,  hundreds  of  them,  and  the  diners, 

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passed  in  review  of  the  spectacle  like  country  visitors 
before  the  glass  tanks  of  the  Aquarium.  A  strident  shriek 
sounded  as  a  gorgeously  caparisoned  peacock  preened  him 
self;  others  were  discovered  here  and  there,  brilliant- 
hued  specimens,  voicing  shrill  indignation. 

"How — beautiful!"  gasped  Lorelei,  when  she  had  taken 
in  the  whole  scene.  "But — the  poor  little  things  are 
frightened."  She  looked  up  to  find  her  companion 
staring  in  Hammon's  direction  with  an  expression  of 
peculiar,  derisive  amusement. 

Hammon  was  the  center  of  an  admiring  group;  con 
gratulations  were  being  hurled  at  him  from  every  quarter. 
At  his  side  was  Lilas  Lynn,  very  dark,  very  striking,  very 
expensively  gowned,  and  elaborately  bejeweled.  The 
room  was  dinning  with  the  strains  of  an  invisible  orches 
tra  and  the  vocal  uproar;  topping  the  confusion  came 
shrieks  from  the  excitable  peacocks;  the  wild  birds  twit 
tered  and  beat  themselves  affrightedly  against  the  netting. 

Becoming  conscious  of  Lorelei's  gaze,  her  escort  looked 
down,  showing  his  teeth  in  a  grin  that  was  not  of  pleasure. 

"You  like  it?"  he  asked. 

"It's  beautiful ,  but — the  extravagance  is  almost  criminal . ' ' 

"Don't  tell  me  how  many  starving  newsboys  or  how 
many  poor  families  the  cost  of  this  supper  would  support 
for  a  year.  I  hate  poor  people.  I  like  to  see  'em  starve. 
If  you  fed  them  this  year  they'd  starve  next,  so — what's 
the  difference?  Nevertheless,  Jarvis  has  surprised  me." 
He  paused,  and  his  eyes,  as*  he  stared  again  at  the  steel 
magnate,  were  mocking.  "  You'll  admit  it  was  a  dazzling 
idea — coming  from  a  rolling-mill  boss.  Now  for  the 
ortolans  and  the  humming-bird  tongues.  No  doubt 
there's  a  pearl  in  every  wine-cup.  Prepare  to  have  your 
palate  tickled  with  a  feather  when  your  appetite  flags." 

"That's  what  the  Romans  did,  isn't  it?" 

"Ah,  you  are  a  student  as  well  as  an  artist,  Miss 
Knight." 

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"I  thought  you  were  going  to  be  pleasant,  but  you're 
not,  are  you?"  Lorelei  was  smiling  fixedly. 

"  No,  quite  the  opposite.    Thank  God,  I'm  a  dyspeptic." 

"Then  why  did  you  come  here?" 

"Why  did  those  birds  come?    Why  did  you  come?" 

"Oh,  we — the  birds  and  I — are  merely  decorations — 
something  to  add  to  the  rich  man's  gaiety.  But  I'm 
afraid  you  don't  intend  to  have  a  good  time,  Mr. — " 
They  had  found  their  places  at  the  table,  and  Lorelei's 
escort  was  seating  her.  "I  didn't  catch  your  name  when 
we  were  introduced." 

"Nor  I,"  said  he,  taking  his  place  beside  her.  "It 
sounded  like  Rice  Curry  or  some  other  damnable  dish, 
but  it's  really  Merkle — John  T.  Merkle." 

"Ah!  You're  a  banker.  Aren't  you  pretty — reckless 
confessing  your  rank,  as  it  were?" 

"I'm  a  bachelor;  also  an  invalid  and  an  insomniac. 
You  couldn't  bring  me  any  more  trouble  than  I  have." 

"You  are  unpleasant." 

"I'm  famous  for  it.  Being  the  only  bachelor  present, 
I  claim  the  privilege  of  free  speech."  Again  he  looked 
toward  Hammon,  and  this  time  he  frowned.  "From  in 
dications  I'll  soon  have  company,  however." 

"Indeed.  Is  there  talk  of  a  divorce  there?"  She  in 
clined  her  head  in  the  host's  direction. 

Merkle  retorted  acidly:  "My  dear  child,  don't  try 
to  act  the  ingenue.  You're  in  the  same  show  as  Miss 
Lynn,  and  you  must  know  what's  going  on.  This  sort 
of  thing  can't  continue  indefinitely,  for  Mrs.  Hammon  is 
very  much  alive,  to  say  nothing  of  her  daughters.  I  dare 
say  they'll  hear  about  this  supper,  which  won't  improve 
conditions  at  home.  Now,  we  both  had  to  come  to  this 
Oriental  orgy,  and,  since  neither  of  us  enjoys  it,  let's  be 
natural,  at  least.  I  haven't  slept  lately,  and  I'm  not 
patient  enough  to  be  polite." 

"It's  a  bargain.  I'll  try  to  be  as  disagreeable  as  you 

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are,"  said  Lorelei;  and  Mr.  Merkle  signified  his  prompt 
acquiescence.  He  lit  a  huge  monogrammed  cigarette, 
pushed  aside  his  hors  d'ceuvres,  and  reluctantly  turned 
down  his  array  of  wine-glasses  one  by  one. 

"Can't  eat,  can't  drink,  can't  sleep,"  he  grumbled. 
"Stewed  prunes  and  rice  for  my  portion.  Waiter,  bring 
me  a  bottle  of  vichy,  and  when  it's  gone  bring  me  an 
other." 

The  diners  had  arranged  themselves  by  now ;  the  supper 
had  begun.  Owing  to  the  nature  of  the  affair,  there  was 
a  complete  absence  of  the  stiffness  usual  at  formal  ban 
quets,  and,  since  the  women  were  present  in  quite  the 
same  capacity  as  the  performers  who  were  hired  to  appear 
later  on  the  stage,  they  did  not  allow  the  moments  to 
drag.  A  bohemian  spirit  prevailed ;  the  ardor  of  the  men, 
lashed  on  by  laughter,  coquetry,  and  smiles,  rose  quickly; 
wine  flowed,  and  a  general  intimacy  began.  Introductions 
were  no  longer  necessary,  the  talk  flew  back  and  forth 
along  the  rim  of  the  rose-strewn  semicircle. 


CHAPTER  IV 

T  ORELEI  turned  from  the  man  on  her  left,  who  had 
i-^  regaled  her  with  an  endless  story,  the  point  of  which 
had  sent  the  teller  into  hiccoughs  of  laughter,  and  said 
to  John  Merkle: 

"I'm  glad  I'm  with  you  to-night.  I  don't  like  drinking 
men." 

"Can  a  girl  in  your  position  afford  preferences?"  he 
inquired,  tartly.  Thus  far  the  banker  had  fully  lived  up 
to  his  sour  reputation. 

"All  women  are  extravagant.  I  have  preferences,  even 
if  I  can't  afford  them.  If  you  were  a  tippler  instead  of  a 
plain  grouch  I  could  tell  you  precisely  how  you'd  act  and 
what  you'd  talk  about  as  the  evening  goes  on.  First 
you'd  be  gallant  and  attentive;  then  you'd  forget  me 
and  talk  business  with  Mr.  Wharton— he's  nearest  you. 
About  that  time  I'd  begin  to  learn  the  real  names  of  these 
lords  of  finance.  After  that  you'd  become  interested  in 
my  future.  That's  always  the  worst  period.  Once  I'd 
made  you  realize  that  you  meant  nothing  in  my  life  and 
that  my  future  was  provided  for,  you'd  tell  me  stories 
about  your  family — how  your  wife  is  an  invalid,  how  Tom 
is  at  Yale,  how  Susie  is  coming  out  in  the  autumn,  and 
how  you  really  had  no  idea  ladies  were  to  be  present  to 
night  or  you'd  never  have  risked  coming.  Finally  you'd 
confess  that  you  were  naturally  impulsive,  generous,  and 
affectionate,  and  merely  lacked  the  encouragement  of  a 
kindred  spirit  like  me  to  become  a  terrible  cut-up.  Then 
you'd  insist  upon  dancing.  I'd  die  if  I  had  to  teach  you 
the  tango." 

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Mr.  Merkle  grunted,  "So  would  I." 

She  smiled  sweetly.  "You  see,  we're  both  unpleasant 
people." 

Merkle  meditated  in  silence  while  she  attacked  her  food 
with  a  healthy,  youthful  appetite  that  awoke  his  envy. 

"I  suppose  you  see  a  lot  of  this  sort  of  thing?"  he  at 
length  suggested. 

"There's  something  of  the  kind  nearly  every  night.  Is 
this  your  first  experience?" 

"Um-m — no.  Steel  men  are  notoriously  sporty  when 
they  get  away  from  home.  But  I  don't  go  out  often." 

"This  party  isn't  as  bad  as  some,  for  the  very  reason 
that  most  of  the  men  are  from  out  of  town  and  it's  a  bit 
of  a  novelty  to  them.  But  there's  a  crowd  of  regular 
New-Yorkers  —  the  younger  men-about-town — "  She 
paused  significantly.  "I  accepted  one  invitation  from 
them." 

"Only  one?" 

"It  was  quite  enough." 

"I've  traveled  some,"  observed  Merkle,  "but  this  city 
is  getting  to  be  the  limit." 

She  nodded  her  amber  head.  "There's  only  one  Paris, 
after  all,  and  that's  New  York.  Don't  laugh ;  I  read  that. 
We  girls  remember  all  the  clever  things  we  hear,  and  use 
them.  Do  you  see  the  young  person  in  black  and  white 
with  the  red-nosed  man — the  one  who  looks  as  if  he  were 
smelling  a  rose?  Well,  she's  in  our  company,  and  she's 
very  popular  at  these  parties  because  she's  so  witty.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  she  memorizes  the  jokes  in  all  the  funny 
papers  and  springs  them  as  her  own.  Her  men  friends 
say  she's  too  original  to  be  in  the  show  business." 

For  a  moment  the  girl  at  Merkle's  right  engaged  his 
attention,  and  Lorelei  turned  again  to  the  incoherent 
story-teller  beside  her,  who  had  made  it  plain  by  pawing 
at  her  that  he  was  bursting  once  more  with  tidings  of  great 
merriment. 

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The  meal  grew  noisier;  the  orchestra  interspersed 
sensuous  melodies  from  the  popular  successes  with  the 
tantalizing  rag-time  airs  that  had  set  the  city  to  singing. 
Silent-footed  attendants  deposited  tissue-covered  pack 
ages  before  the  guests.  There  was  a  flutter  of  excite 
ment  as  the  women  began  to  examine  their  favors. 

"What  is  it?"  Merkle  inquired,  leaning  toward  Lorelei. 

" The  new  saddle-bag  purse.  See?  It's  very  Frenchy. 
Gold  fittings — and  a  coin-purse  and  card-case  inside.  See 
the  monogram?  I'm  going  to  keep  this." 

"Don't  you  keep  all  your  gifts?" 

"Not  the  expensive  ones.  Lilas  picked  these  out  for 
Mr.  Hammon,  and  they're  exquisite.  We  share  the  same 
dressing-room,  you  know." 

Merkle  regarded  her  with  a  sudden  new  interest. 

"You  and  she  dress  together?" 

"Yes." 

"Then — I  dare  say  you're  close  friends?" 

"We're  close  enough — in  that  room;  but  scarcely 
friends.  What  did  you  get?" 

He  unrolled  the  package  at  his  plate. 

"A  gold  safety  razor — evidently  a  warning  not  to  play 
with  edged  tools.  I  wonder  if  Miss  Lynn  bought  one 
for  Jarvis?" 

"Now,  why  did  you  say  that,"  Lorelei  asked,  quickly, 
"and  why  did  you  ask  in  that  peculiar  tone  if  she  and  I 
were  friends?" 

The  man  leaned  closer,  saying  in  a  voice  that  did  not 
carry  above  the  clamor : 

"I  suppose  you  know  she's  making  a  fool  of  him?  I 
suppose  you  realize  what  it  means  when  a  woman  of  her 
stamp  gets  a  man  with  money  in  her  power?  You  must 
know  all  there  is  to  know  from  the  outside;  it  occurred 
to  me  that  you  might  also  know  something  about  the 
inside  of  the  affair.  Do  you?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  All  I've  heard  is  the  common  gossip." 

38 


"I'VE  traveled  some,"  observed  Merkle,  "but  t 

1  amber  head.     "There's  only  one  Paris,  after 

We  girls  remember  all  the  clever  things  we  hear  a 


city  is  getting  to  be  the  limit."  Lorelei  nodded  her 
and  that's  New  York.  Don't  laugh.  I  read  that, 
use  them." 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"There's  a  good  deal  here  that  doesn't  show  on  the 
surface.  That  woman  is  a  menace  to  a  great  many  peo 
ple,  of  whom  I  happen  to  be  one." 

"You  speak  as  if  she  were  a  dangerous  character,  and 
as  if  she  had  deliberately  entangled  him,"  Lorelei  said, 
defendingly.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  nothing  of 
the  sort;  she  avoided  him  as  long  as  she  could,  but  he 
forced  his  attentions  upon  her.  He's  a  man  who  refuses 
defeat.  He  persisted,  he  persecuted  her  until  she  was 
forced  to — accept  him.  Men  of  his  wealth  can  do  any 
thing,  you  know.  Sometimes  I  think — but  it's  none  of 
my  business." 

"What  do  you  sometimes  think?" 

"That  she  hates  him." 

"Nonsense." 

"  I  know  she  did  at  first;  I  don't  wonder  that  she  makes 
him  pay  now.  It's  according  to  her  code  and  the  code 
of  this  business." 

"I  can't  believe  she — dislikes  him." 

"He  may  have  won  her  finally,  but  at  first  she  refused 
his  gifts,  refused  even  to  meet  him." 

"She  had  scruples?" 

<}No  more  than  the  rest  of  us,  I  presume.  She  gave 
her  two  weeks'  notice  because  he  annoyed  her;  but  before 
the  time  was  up  Bergman  took  a  hand.  He  sent  for  her 
one  evening,  and  when  she  went  down  there  was  Mr. 
Hammon,  too.  When  she  came  up-stairs  she  was  hysteri 
cal.  She  cried  and  laughed  and  cursed — it  was  terrible." 

"Curious,"  murmured  the  man,  staring  at  the  object 
of  their  controversy.  "What  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  nothing  connected.  She  called  him  every  kind  of 
a  monster,  accused  him  of  every  crime  from  murder  to — " 

"Murder!"     The  banker  started. 

"He  had  made  a  long  fight  to  beat  her  down,  and  she 
was  unstrung.  She  seemed  to  have  a  queer  physical 
aversion  to  him." 

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"Humph!    She's  got  nobly  over  that." 

"I've  told  you  this  because  you  seemed  to  think  she's 
to  blame,  when  it  is  all  Mr.  Hammon's  doing." 

"  It's  a  peculiar  situation — very.  You've  interested  me. 
But  the  man  himself  is  peculiar,  extraordinary.  You  can't 
draw  a  proper  line  on  his  conduct  without  knowing  the 
circumstances  of  his  home  life,  and,  in  fact,  his  whole 
mental  make-up.  Sometime  I'll  tell  you  his  story;  I 
think  it  would  interest  you.  In  a  way  I  don't  blame  him 
for  seeking  amusement  and  happiness  where  he  can  find 
it,  and  yet — I'm  afraid  of  the  result.  This  supper  means 
more  than  you  can  understand  or  than  I  can  explain." 

"The  city  is  full  of  Samsons,  and  most  of  them  have 
their  Delilahs." 

Merkle  agreed.  "These  men  put  Hammon  where  he 
is.  I  wonder  if  they  will  let  him  stay  there.  It  depends 
upon  that  girl  yonder."  He  turned  to  answer  a  question 
from  Hannibal  Wharton,  and  Lorelei  gave  her  attention 
to  the  part  of  the  entertainment  which  was  beginning 
on  the  stage.  Turn  after  turn  appeared;  black -faced 
comedians,  feature  acts  from  vaudeville  and  from  the 
reigning  successes,  high-priced  singers,  dancers,  monolo- 
gists  followed  each  other.  Occasionally  they  were  ap 
plauded,  but  more  frequently  their  efforts  to  amuse  were 
lost  in  the  self-made  merriment  of  the  diners.  Now  and 
then  an  actor  was  bombarded  with  jests  or  openly  guyed. 
Music  and  wine  flowed  as  steadily  as  the  crystal  stream 
of  the  fountain;  faces  became  flushed;  glasses  rang. 
The  women  chattered;  the  men  raised  loud  voices;  the 
birds  fluttered  and  the  peacocks  shrieked.  It  all  blended 
in  a  blood-stirring,  Bacchanalian  joviality.  Only  now 
and  then  the  frolic  threatened  to  become  a  carouse,  and 
the  revel  bordered  upon  a  debauch. 

Of  a  sudden  the  clamor  was  silenced,  and  indifference 
gave  place  to  curiosity,  for  the  music  had  begun  the  in 
troduction  to  one  of  Adoree  Demorest's  songs. 

44, 


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"Her  rubies  are  the  finest  in  the  world."  "Too  strong 
for  Paris,  so  she  came  to  New  York."  "Anything  goes 
here  if  it's  bad  enough,"  came  from  various  quarters. 

Lorelei  had  never  seen  this  much-discussed  actress, 
whose  wickedness  had  set  the  town  agog,  land  her  first 
impression  was  vaguely  disappointing.  Miss  Demorest's 
beauty  was  by  no  means  remarkable,  although  it  was  ac 
centuated  by  the  most  bizarre  creation  of  the  French 
shops.  She  was  animated,  audacious,  Gallic  in  accent  and 
postures — she  was  vividly  alive  with  a  magnetism  that 
meant  much  more  than  beauty;  but  she  over-exerted  her 
voice,  and  her  song  was  nothing  to  excite  applause.  At 
last  she  was  off,  in  a  whirl  of  skirts,  a  generous  display  of 
hosiery,  and  a  great  bobbing  of  the  aigrette  pompon  that 
towered  above  her  like  an  Indian  head-dress.  Only  a 
moment  later  she  was  on  again,  this  time  in  a  daring 
costume  of  solid  black,  against  and  through  which  her 
limbs  flashed  with  startling  effect  as  she  performed  her 
famous  Danse  de  Nuit. 

"  Hm-m !  Nothing  very  extreme  about  that,"  remarked 
Merkle,  at  length.  "It  would  be  beautiful  if  it  were  bet 
ter  done." 

Lorelei  agreed.  She  had  been  staring  with  all  a  woman's 
intentness  at  this  sister  whose  strength  consisted  of  her 
frailty,  and  now  inquired : 

"How  does  she  get  away  with  it?" 

"By  the  power  of  suggestion,  I  dare  say.  Her  public 
is  looking  for  something  devilish,  and  discovers  whatever 
it  chooses  to  imagine  in  what  she  says  and  does." 

Hannibal  Wharton  had  changed  his  seat,  and,  regard 
less  of  the  dancer,  began  a  conversation  with  Merkle. 
After  a  time  Lorelei  heard  him  say: 

"  It  cost  me  five  thousand  dollars  to  pay  for  the  damage 
those  boys  did..  They  threatened  to  jail  Bob,  but  of 
course  I  couldn't  allow  that." 

"I  remember.  That  was  five  years  ago,  and  Bob 

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THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

hasn't  changed  a  whit.  I  think  he's  a  menace  to  so 
ciety." 

Wharton  laughed,  but  his  reply  was  lost  in  the  clamor 
ous  demand  for  an  encore  by  Mile.  Demorest. 

"So  he  gets  his  devilment  from  you,  eh?"  Merkle  in 
quired. 

"It  isn't  devilment.  Bob's  all  right.  He's  running 
with  a  fast  crowd,  and  he  has  to  keep  up  his  end." 

"Bah!     He  hasn't  been  sober  in  a  year." 

"You're  a  dyspeptic,  John.  You  were  born  with  a 
gray  beard,  and  you're  not  growing  younger.  He  wanted 
to  come  to  this  party,  but — I  didn't  care  to  have  him  for 
obvious  reasons,  so  I  told  Hammon  to  refuse  him  even 
if  he  asked.  He  bet  me  a  thousand  dollars  that  he'd  come 
anyhow,  and  I've  been  expecting  him  to  overpower  those 
doormen  or  creep  up  the  fire-escape." 

The  hand-clapping  ceased  as  the  dancer  reappeared, 
smiling  and  bowing. 

"I  will  dance  again  if  you  wish,"  she  announced,  in 
perfect  English,  "introducing  my  new  partner,  Mr. — " 
she  glanced  into  the  wings  inquiringly — "Senor  Roberto. 
It  is  his  first  public  appearance  in  this  country,  and  we 
will  endeavor  to  execute  a  variation  of  the  Argentine 
tango.  Senor  Roberto  is  a  poor  boy;  he  begs  you  to 
applaud  him  in  order  that  he  may  secure  an  engagement 
and  support  his  old  father."  She  stooped  laughingly  to 
confer  with  the  orchestra  leader,  who  had  broken  cover 
at  her  announcement. 

Mr.  Wharton  was  still  talking.  "That's  my  way  of 
raising  a  son.  I  taught  Bob  to  drink  when  I  drank,  to 
smoke  when  I  smoked,  and  all  that.  My  father  raised 
me  that  way." 

The  opening  strain  of  a  Spanish  dance  floated  out  from 
the  hidden  musicians,  Mile.  Demorest  whirled  into  view 
in  the  arms  of  a  young  man  in  evening  dress.  She  was 
still  laughing,  but  her  partner  wore  a  grave  face,  and  his 

46 


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eyes  were  lowered;  he  followed  the  intricate  movements 
of  the  dance  with  some  difficulty.  To  Lorelei  he  appeared 
disappointingly  amateurish.  Then  a  ripple  of  merriment, 
growing  into  a  guffaw,  advised  her  that  something  out  of 
the  ordinary  was  occurring. 

"The — scoundrel!"  Hannibal  Wharton  cried. 

Merkle  observed  dryly:  "He's  won  your  thousand.  I 
withdraw  what  I  said  about  him;  it  requires  a  gigantic 
intelligence  to  outwit  you."  To  Lorelei  he  added:  "This 
will  be  considered  a  great  joke  on  Broadway." 

"That  is  Mr.  Wharton's  son?" 

"It  is — and  the  most  dissipated  lump  of  arrogance  in 
New  York." 

"Bob,"  the  father  shouted,  "quit  that  foolishness  and 
come  down  here!"  But  the  junior  Wharton,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  stage,  merely  danced  the  harder.  When 
the  exhibition  ended  he  bowed,  hand  in  hand  with  Miss 
Demorest,  then  leaped  nimbly  over  the  footlights  and 
made  his  way  toward  Jarvis  Hammon,  nodding  to  the 
men  as  he  passed. 

A  moment  later  he  sank  into  a  chair  near  his  father, 
saying:  "Well,  dad,  what  d'you  think  of  my  educated 
legs?  I  learned  that  at  night  school." 

Wharton  grumbled  unintelligibly,  but  it  was  plain  that 
he  was  not  entirely  displeased  at  his  son's  prank. 

"You  were  superb,"  said  Merkle,  warmly.  "It's  the 
best  thing  I  ever  saw  you  do,  Bob.  You  could  almost 
make  a  living  for  yourself  at  it." 

The  young  man  grinned,  showing  rows  of  firm,  strong 
teeth.  Lorelei,  who  was  watching  him,  decided  that  he 
must  have  at  least  twice  the  usual  number;  yet  it  was 
a  good  mouth — a  good,  big,  generous  mouth. 

"Thanks  for  those  glorious  words  of  praise;  that's 
more  than  we're  doing  on  the  Street  nowadays.  Miss 
Demorest  said  we'd  'execute'  the  dance,  and  we  did. 
We  certainly  killed  Senor  Thomas  W.  Tango,  and  I'll  be 

47 


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shot  at  sunrise  for  stamping  on  Adoree's  insteps.  I  looked 
before  I  leaped,  but  I  couldn't  decide  where  to  put  my 
feet.  Whew!  Got  any  grape- juice  for  a  growing  boy?" 
He  helped  himself  to  his  father's  wine-glass  and  drained 
it.  "You  can  settle  now,  dad — one  thousand  iron  men. 
I  owe  it  to  Demorest." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Debt  of  honor.  I  heard  she  was  due  here  with  some 
kind  of  an  electric  thrill,  so  I  offered  her  my  share  of  the 
sweepstakes  to  further  disgrace  herself  by  dancing  with 
me.  She's  an  expensive  doll;  she  needs  that  thousand — 
mortgage  on  the  old  family  opera-house,  no  shoes  for  little 
sister,  and  mother  selling  papers  to  square  the  landlord." 
He  caught  Lorelei's  eye  and  stared  boldly.  "Hello!  I 
believe  in  fairies,  too,  dad.  Introduce  me  to  the  Princess." 

Merkle  volunteered  this  service,  and  Bob  promptly 
hitched  his  chair  closer.  Lorelei  saw  that  he  was  very 
drunk,  and  marveled  at  his  control  during  the  recent 
exhibition. 

"Tell  me  more  about  the  'Parti-color  Petticoat'  and 
'Dentol  Chewing-Gum,'  Miss  Knight.  Your  face  is  a 
household  word  in  every  street-car,"  he  began. 

She  replied  promptly,  quoting  haphazard  from  the 
various  advertisements  in  which  she  figured.  "It  never 
shrinks;  it  holds  its  shape;  it  must  be  seen  to  be  ap 
preciated;  is  cool,  refreshing,  and  prevents  decay." 

"How  did  you  meet  that  French  dancer?"  Hannibal 
Wharton  queried,  sourly,  of  his  son. 

"I  stormed  the  stage  door,  bullied  the  door-man,  and 
waylaid  her  in  the  wings.  She  thought  I  was  you,  dad. 
Wharton  is  a  grand  old  name."  He  chuckled  at  his 
father's  exclamation.  "She's  a  good  fellow,  though,  and 
I  don't  blame  the  King  of  What's-its-name.  Kings  have 
to  spend  their  money  somewhere.  Maybe  I  can  induce 
her  to  invest  some  of  the  royal  dough  in  stocks  and  bonds. 
The  prospect  dizzies  me." 

48 


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"The  crowd  in  your  office  would  give  you  a  banquet 
if  you  sold  something,"  Merkle  told  him. 

Wharton,  Senior,  pressed  for  further  information. 
"Where  did  you  learn  those  Argentine  wiggles?" 

"Hard  times  are  to  blame,  dad.  The  old  men  on  the 
Exchange  play  golf  all  day,  and  the  young  ones  turkey- 
trot  all  night.  I  stay  up  late  in  the  hope  that  I  may 
find  a  quarter  that  some  suburbanite  has  dropped.  It's 
dangerous  to  drive  an  automobile  through  a  dark  street 
these  days;  one's  liable  to  run  down  a  starving  banker 
or  an  indigent  broker  with  a  piece  of  lead  pipe  and  a 
mask.  You  find  it  so,  don't  you,  Miss  Knight?" 

"I  have  no  automobile,"  said  the  girl. 

"Strange.  Show  business  on  the  blink,  too,  eh?" 
The  elder  men  rose  and  sauntered  away  in  the  direction 
of  their  host,  whereupon  Bob  winked. 

"They've  left  us  flat.  Why?  Because  the  wicked 
Mile.  Demorest  has  finally  made  her  appearance  as  a 
guest.  My  dad  is  a  splendid  shock-absorber.  Naughty, 
naughty  papa!" 

"It's  probably  well  that  you  came  with  her;  fathers 
are  so  indiscreet." 

Young  Wharton  signaled  to  a  waiter  who  was  passing 
with  a  wine-bottle  in  a  napkin. 

"Tarry!"  he  cried.  "Remove  the  shroud,  please,  and 
let  me  look  at  poor  old  Roderer.  Thanks.  How  natural 
he  tastes."  Then  to  Lorelei :  "The  governor  is  a  woman- 
hater;  but,  just  the  same,  I'm  glad  you  drew  Merkle  in 
stead  of  him  to-night,  or  there'd  surely  be  a  scandal  in 
the  Wharton  family.  No  man  is  safe  in  range  of  your 
liquid  orbs,  Miss  Knight,  unless  he  has  his  marriage 
license  sewed  into  his  clothes.  Mother  keeps  hers 
framed.  Wouldn't  she  enjoy  reading  the  list  of  Hammon's 
guests  at  this  party?  'Among  those  present  were  Mr. 
Hannibal  C.  Wharton,  the  well-known  rolling-mill  man; 
Miss  Lorelei  Knight,  Principal  First- Act  Fairy  of  the 
4  49 


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Bergman  Revue;  and  Mile.  Adoree  Demorest,  the  friend 
of  a  king.  A  good  time  was  had  by  all,  and  the  diners 
enjoyed  themselves  very  nice.' "  He  laughed  loudly,  and 
the  girl  stirred. 

"She'd  be  pleased  to  read  also  that  you  came  late,  but 
highly  intoxicated." 

"Ah!  Salvation  Nell."  Bob  took  no  offense.  "If 
the  hour  was  late  she'd  know  that  my  intoxication  fol 
lowed  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  always  does,  just  as  the 
dew  succeeds  the  sunset,  as  the  track  follows  the  wheel 
barrow,  as  the  cracker  pursues  the  cheese.  I  am  a  de 
rivative  of  alcohol,  the  one  and  infallible  argument 
against  temperance,  Miss  Knight.  In  me  you  behold  the 
shining  example  of  all  that  puts  the  reformer  to  rout  and 
gladdens  the  heart  of  the  cafe-keeper." 

"You  talk  as  if  you  were  always  drunk." 

"Oh — not  always.  By  day  I  am  frequently  sober, 
but  at  such  times  I  am  fit  company  for  neither  man  nor 
beast;  I  am  harsh  and  unsympathetic;  I  scheme  and  I 
connive.  With  nightfall,  however,  there  comes  a  meta 
morphosis.  Ah!  Believe  me!  When  the  Clover  Club  is 
strained  and  descends  like  the  gentle  dew  of  heaven,  when 
the  Bronx  is  mixed  and  the  Martini  shimmers  in  the  first 
rays  of  the  electric  light,  then  I  humanize  and  harmonize. 
For  me  gin  is  a  tonic,  rum  a  restorative,  vermuth  a  balm. 
Once  I  am  stocked  up  with  ales,  wines,  liquors,  and  cigars, 
I  become  attuned  to  the  nobler  sentiments  of  life.  I  as 
pire.  I  make  friends  with  lonely  derelicts  whose  diges 
tions  have  foundered  on  seas  of  vichy  and  buttermilk, 
and  I  show  them  the  joys  of  alcoholism — without  cost. 
We  share  each  other's  pleasures  and  perplexities,  at  my 
expense.  They  are  my  brothers.  I  am  optimistic;  I 
laugh;  I  play  cards  for  money;  I  turkey-trot.  I  become 
a  living,  palpitating  influence  for  good,  spreading  happiness 
and  prosperity  in  my  wake." 

"Do  you  consider  yourself  in  such  a  condition  now?" 

50 


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queried  Lorelei,  who  had  been  vaguely  amused  at  this 
Rubaiyat. 

"  I  am,  and,  since  it  is  long  past  the  closing  hour  of  one 
and  the  tango  parlors  are  dark,  suppose  we  blow  this 
'Who's  Who  in  Pittsburg'  and  taxi-cab  it  out  to  a  road- 
house  where  the  bass  fiddle  is  still  inhabited  and  the 
second  generation  is  trotting  to  the  'Robert  E.  Lee'?" 

Lorelei  shook  her  head  with  a  smile. 

"Don't  you  dance?" 

"Doesn't  everybody  dance?" 

"Then  how  did  you  break  your  leg?" 

"I  don't  care  to  go." 

"Strange!"  Mr.  Wharton  helped  himself  to  a  goblet 
of  wine,  appearing  to  heap  the  liquor  above  the  edge  of 
the  glass.  "Now,  if  I  were  sober  I  could  understand  how 
you  might  prefer  these  'pappy  guys'  to  me,  for  nobody 
likes  me  then,  but  I'm  agreeably  pickled.  I'm  just  like 
everybody  you'll  be  likely  to  meet  at  this  time  of  night. 
Merkle  won't  take  you  anywhere,  for  he's  full  of  dis 
tilled  water  and  has  a  directors'  meeting  at  ten.  I  over 
flow  with  spirits  and  have  a  noontide  engagement  with 
an  Ostermoor." 

"Why  don't  you  ask  Miss  Demorest?  She  came  with 
you?" 

Wharton  sighed  hopelessly.  "Something  queer  about 
that  Jane.  D'you  know  what  made  us  so  late  ?  She  went 
to  mass  on  the  way  down." 

"Mass?    At  that  hour?" 

"It  was  a  special  midnight  service  conducted  for 
actors.  I  sat  in  the  taxi  and  waited.  It  did  me  a  lot 
of  good." 

Some  time  later  Merkle  returned  to  find  Bob  still 
animatedly  talking;  catching  Lorelei's  eye,  he  signified 
a  desire  to  speak  with  her,  but  she  found  it  difficult  to 
escape  from  the  intoxicated  young  man  at  her  side.  At 
last,  however,  she  succeeded,  and  joined  her  supper  com- 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

panion  at  the  farther  edge  of  the  fountain,  where  the  tire 
less  cupids  still  poured  water  from  the  cornucopias. 

Merkle  was  watching  his  friend's  son  with  a  frown. 

"You  have  just  left  the  personification  of  everything 
I  detest,"  he  volunteered.  "You  heard  what  his  father 
said  about  raising  him — how  he  taught  Bob  to  drink  when 
he  drank  and  follow  in  his  footsteps?  Well,  sometimes 
the  theory  works  and  a  boy  grows  up  with  open  eyes,  but 
more  often  it  turns  out  as  it  has  in  this  case.  Bob's  an 
alcoholic,  a  common  drunkard,  and  he'll  end  in  an  in 
stitution,  sure.  He'd  be  there  now  if  it  wasn't  for  Hanni 
bal's  money.  He's  run  the  gamut  of  extravagance;  he's 
done  everything  freakish  that  there  is  to  do.  But  that 
isn't  what  I  want  to  say  to  you.  Help  me  feed  these  fool 
ish  goldfish  while  I  talk." 

"  Do  you  think  anybody  would  understand  if  they  over 
heard  you  ?  I  fancied  you  and  I  were  the  only  sober  ones 
left." 

"Some  of  the  girls  are  all  right."  Merkle  eyed  his 
companion  closely.  "Don't  you  drink?" 

"I  daren't,  even  if  I  cared  to." 

"Daren't?" 

"You'll  notice  that  most  of  the  pretty  girls  are  sober." 

"Right." 

"I  have  nothing  but  my  looks.  Wouldn't  I  be  a  fool 
to  sacrifice  them?" 

"You  seem  to  be  sensible,  Miss  Knight.  Something 
tells  me  you're  very  much  the  right  sort.  I  know  you're 
trying  to  get  ahead,  and — I  can  help  you  if  you'll  help 
me." 

"Help  you  'get  ahead'?" 

He  smiled.  "Hardly.  I  need  an  agent,  and  I'll  pay 
a  good  price  to  the  right  person." 

"How  mysterious!" 

"I'll  be  plain.  That  affair  yonder" — he  nodded  tow 
ard  Jarvis  Hammon  and  Lilas  Lynn — "strikes  you  as  a — 

52 


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well,  as  a  flirtation  of  the  ordinary  sort.  In  one  way  it  is; 
in  another  way  it  is  something  very  different,  for  he's  in 
earnest.  He  thinks  he  is  injuring  no  one  but  himself 
with  this  business,  and  he  is  willing  to  pay  the  price ;  but 
the  fact  is  he  is  putting  other  people  in  peril — me  among 
the  rest.  I'm  not  arguing  for  his  wife  nor  the  two  Misses 
Hammon.  I  don't  go  much  on  the  ordinary  kinds  of 
morality,  and  nobody  outside  of  a  man's  family  has  tL_ 
right  to  question  his  private  life  so  long  as  it  is  private 
in  its  consequences.  But  when  his  secret  conduct  affects 
his  business  affairs,  when  it  endangers  vast  interests  in 
which  others  are  concerned,  then  his  associates  are  en 
titled  to  take  a  hand.  Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 

"Perfectly.  But  you  don't  want  me;  you  want  a 
detective." 

"My  dear  child,  we  have  them  by  the  score.  We  hire 
them  by  the  year,  and  they  have  told  us  all  they  can. 
We  need  inside  information." 

The  girl's  answer  was  made  with  her  habitual  self- 
possession. 

"I've  heard  about  such  things.  I've  heard  about  men 
prying  into  each  other's  private  affairs,  pretending  to  be 
friends  when  they  were  enemies,  and  using  scandal  for 
business  ends.  Lilas  Lynn  is  my  friend — at  least  in  a 
way — and  Mr.  Hammon  is  my  host,  just  as  he  is  yours. 
Oh,  I  know;  this  isn't  a  conventional  party,  and  I'm  not 
here  as  a  conventional  guest — inside  the  little  coin-purse 
he  gave  me  is  a  hundred-dollar  bill — but,  just  the  same,  I 
don't  care  to  act  as  your  spy." 

Merkle's  grave  attention  arrested  Lorelei's  burst  of 
indignation. 

"Will  you  believe  me,"  he  asked,  "when  I  tell  you 
that  Jarvis  Hammon  and  Hannibal  Wharton  are  the  two 
best  friends  I  have  in  the  world  ?  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  loyalty  and  friendship  even  in  big  business;  in  fact, 
high  finance  is  founded  on  confidence  and  personal 

53 


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honor.      This  is    more  than  a    business   matter,   Miss 
Knight." 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  that." 

"It's  true,  however;  I  mean  to  serve  Hammon.  At 
the  same  time  I  must  serve  myself  and  those  who  trust 
me.  My  honor  is  concerned  in  this  as  well  as  his,  and 
there  is  a  rigid  code  in  money  matters.  If  what  I  suspect 
is  true,  Hammon's  infatuation  promises  to  do  harm  to 
innocent  people.  I  fear — in  fact,  I'm  sure — that  he  is 
being  used.  I've  learned  things  about  Miss  Lynn  that 
you  may  not  know.  What  you  have  told  me  to-night 
adds  to  my  anxiety,  and  I  must  know  more." 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"  Her  real  feeling  for  him — her  intentions — her  relations 
with  a  man  named  Melcher — " 

"Maxey  Melcher?" 

"The  same.    You  know  his  business?" 

"No." 

"He  is  a  gambler,  a  political  power;  a  crafty,  unscrupu 
lous  fellow  who  represents — big  people.  By  helping  me 
you  can  serve  many  innocent  persons  and,  most  of  all, 
perhaps,  Hammon  himself." 

Lorelei  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  This  is  very  unusual," 
she  said,  at  length.  "  I  don't  know  whether  to  believe  you 
or  not." 

"Suppose,  then,  you  let  the  matter  rest  and  keep  your 
eyes  open.  When  you  convince  yourself  who  means  best 
to  Jarvis — Miss  Lynn  and  Melcher  and  their  crowd,  or  I 
and  mine — make  your  decision.  You  may  name  your 
own  price." 

"There  wouldn't  be  any  price,"  she  told  him,  impa 
tiently.  "I'll  wait." 

Merkle  bowed.  "I  can  trust  your  discretion.  Thank 
you  for  listening  to  me,  and  thank  you  for  being  agreeable 
to  an  irascible  old  dyspeptic.  Will  you  permit  me  to  drive 
you  home  when  you're  ready?" 

54 


''  \  X /ELL,  every  time  I  come  through  with  a  suggestion 
V  V   makers  like  you,  anyhow?" 


ma  crabs  it.     What's  the  use  of  talking  to  a  pair  of  hay- 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"I'm  ready  now." 

But  as  Lorelei  made  her  way  unobtrusively  toward  the 
cloak-room  she  encountered  Robert  Wharton,  who  barred 
her  path. 

"Fairy  Princess, you  ran  away,"  he  declared, accusingly. 

"I'm  leaving."  She  saw  that  his  intoxication  had 
reached  a  more  advanced  stage.  His  cheeks  were  flushed ; 
his  eyes  were  wild  and  unsteady. 

"Good  news!  The  night  is  young;  we'll  watch  it  grow 
up." 

"Thank  you,  no.    I'm  going  home." 

"A  common  mistake.  Others  have  tried  and  failed." 
With  extreme  gravity  he  focused  his  gaze  upon  her, 
saying,  "Home  is  the  one  place  that  our  mayor  can't 
close." 

She  extended  her  hand.    "Good  night." 

"I  don't  understand.    Speak  English." 

"Goodnight." 

Wharton's  countenance  darkened  unpleasantly,  and  his 
voice  was  rough.  "Where'd  you  learn  that  line?  It's 
country  stuff.  We'll  leave  when  I'm  ready.  Now  we'll 
have  a  trot." 

The  music  was  playing;  other  couples  were  dancing, 
and  he  seized  her  in  his  arms,  whirling  her  away.  In  and 
out  among  the  chairs  he  piloted  a  dizzy  course,  while  she 
yielded  reluctantly,  conscious,  meanwhile,  that  Ador6e 
Demorest  was  watching  them  with  interest. 

For  an  interval  Wharton  said  nothing;  then,  with  a 
change  of  tone,  he  murmured  in  her  ear:  "D'you  think 
I'd  let  you  spoil  the  whole  night?  Can't  you  see  I'm 
crazy  about  you?" 

Lorelei  endeavored  to  free  herself  from  his  embrace, 
but  he  clutched  her  the  tighter  and  laughed  insolently. 

"Nothing  like  a  good  'turkey'  to  get  acquainted,  is 
there?  We're  going  to  dance  till  we're  old  folks." 

She  continued  to  struggle;  they  were  out  of  step  and 

59 


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out  of  time,  but  he  held  her  away  from  himself  easily, 
bending  a  hot  glance  upon  her  upturned  face.  She  saw 
that  he  was  panting  and  doubly  drunk  with  her  nearness. 
"Don't  fight.  I've  got  you." 

She  was  smiling  faintly,  out  of  habit,  but,  mistaking  her 
expression,  he  drew  her  close  once  more,  then  buried  his 
face  in  her  neck  and  kissed  her  just  at  the  turn  of  her  bare 
shoulder. 

Then  she  tore  herself  away,  and  his  triumphant  laugh 
was  cut  short  as  she  slapped  him  resoundingly,  her  stinging 
fingers  leaving  their  imprint  on  his  cheek. 

Her  eyes  were  flaming  and  her  lips  were  white  with  fury, 
though  she  continued  to  smile. 

"Here!    What  d'you  mean  by  that?"  he  cried. 

She  silenced  him  sharply:  "Hush!  Remember  you 
broke  in  here.  I'd  like  to  see  you  in  that  fountain." 

There  was  a  swish  of  garments,  a  musical  laugh,  and 
Adorer  Demorest  was  between  them. 

"I'm  madly  jealous,  Sefior  Roberto,"  she  exclaimed. 
"Come,  you  must  dance  once  more  with  me.  We'll  finish 
this.  What?"  She  swayed  toward  him  in  sympathy  with 
the  music,  snapping  her  fingers  and  humming  the  words 
of  the  song. 

"She — walloped  me — like  a  sailor,"  the  young  man 
stammered,  incoherently.  "She — wants  to  see  me  in  the 
fountain." 

"Then  jump  in  like  a  gentleman,"  laughed  the  dan- 
seuse.  "But  dance  with  me  first."  She  entwined  her 
arms  about  him  and  forced  him  into  motion.  As  she 
danced  away  she  signaled  over  her  shoulder  to  Lorelei, 
who  made  haste  to  seek  the  cloak-room. 

When  she  emerged  John  Merkle  was  waiting  in  the 
hall.  A  shout  of  laughter  echoed  from  the  banquet-hall, 
and  she  started. 

"That's  nothing,"  Merkle  told  her.  "Bob  Wharton 
is  in  the  fountain.  He  says  he's  a  goldfish." 


CHAPTER  V 

ONE  of  the  minor  readjustments  forced  upon  the 
Knight  family  by  the  nature  of  Lorelei's  work  was 
that  of  meal-hours.  Peter,  from  long  custom  of  early 
rising  in  the  country,  insisted  upon  his  breakfast  at  seven, 
and  in  spite  of  his  inaction  demanded  dinner  at  noon  and 
supper  at  six.  Jim,  being  erratic  in  habit,  exacted  his 
meals  at  any  hour  that  suited  his  appetite,  while  Mrs. 
Knight,  now  that  she  had  a  housemaid,  ate  with  first 
one,  then  another.  But  no  matter  how  chaotic  the  gen 
eral  household  schedule,  Lorelei  was  always  assured  of 
ten  hours'  sleep,  a  dainty  breakfast  upon  rising,  and  a 
substantial  meal  before  theater-time.  Her  mother  saw 
to  it  that  this  program  was  religiously  adhered  to.  At 
whatever  hour  of  the  night  Lorelei  might  come  in,  no 
sound  was  ever  allowed  to  disturb  her  until  she  arose. 
Irrespective  also  of  her  careless  disregard  of  social  ap 
pointments,  she  was  never  permitted  to  miss  one  with 
the  hair-dresser,  the  manicure,  the  masseuse,  or  the 
dozen  and  one  other  beauty  specialists  who  form  as  impor 
tant  an  adjunct  to  the  stage-woman's  career  as  to  that  of 
the  woman  of  fashion.  All  this  was  a  vital  part  of  that 
plan  to  which  the  mother  had  devoted  herself.  She  at 
tended  the  girl's  health  and  good  looks  with  a  devout 
singleness  of  purpose  that  would  have  been  admirable  in 
a  better  cause.  No  race-horse  on  the  eve  of  a  Derby  was 
groomed  more  carefully  than  this  budding  woman.  In 
preparing  her  for  masculine  conquest  the  entire  family 
took  a  hand.  Her  prospects,  her  actions,  her  triumphs, 

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were  the  main  topic  of  conversation;  all  other  interests 
were  subordinated  to  the  matrimonial  quest  upon  which 
she  had  embarked.  The  men  she  met  were  investigated, 
discussed,  speculated  upon  until  their  every  character 
istic  was  worn  threadbare.  The  domestic  arrangements 
that  resulted  were  of  necessity  unhappy,  for  the  house 
work  was  allowed  to  take  care  of  itself.  The  male  mem 
bers  shifted  as  best  they  could,  and  the  home  was  forever 
in  slovenly  confusion.  Nevertheless,  the  existing  condi 
tion  of  affairs  met  the  approval  of  all ;  and  the  three  con 
spirators  lived  in  a  constant  state  of  eager  expectation 
over  Lorelei's  fortunes. 

Mother  and  daughter  were  loitering  over  a  midday 
breakfast,  and  Lorelei,  according  to  custom,  was  recount 
ing  the  incidents  of  the  previous  evening. 

"It's  too  bad  you  quarreled  with  Mr.  Wharton,"  Airs. 
Knight  commented,  when  she  heard  the  full  story  of 
Hammon's  party.  "He'll  dislike  you  now." 

The  girl  shrugged  daintily.  "He  was  drunk  and  fresh. 
I  can't  bear  a  man  in  such  a  condition." 

"But — he's  terribly  rich,  and  he's  an  only  son.  He'll 
inherit  everything.  Is  he  nice-looking?" 

"Um-m— yes." 

"You  shouldn't  antagonize  a  man  like  him,  my  dear. 
He's  single,  at  least;  and  naturally  he's  impulsive,  like 
all  those  young  millionaires.  They  have  so  many  girls 
to  choose  from,  you  know.  Young  Powell,  who  married 
Norma  Gale,  was  the  same  sort.  She  was  twice  his  age, 
but  he  married  her  just  the  same,  and  his  people  made  a 
fine  settlement  to  get  rid  of  her.  She  was — tough,  too. 
Mrs.  Wharton  is  a  great  club-woman  and  the  head  of  a 
thousand  charities." 

"That's  no  sign  she's  charitable." 

"You  can't  tell.  She  might  take  you  right  into  the 
family." 

"Bob  is  an  alcoholic.  He's  no  good,  so  Mr.  Merkle  said." 

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Jim,  who  was  immersed  in  the  morning  paper,  spoke 
from  his  chair  near  the  window. 

"Why  don't  you  go  after  Merkle  himself,  Sis?  Easy 
picking,  these  bankers." 

Jim  also  had  come  home  in  the  still  hours  of  the  night 
before,  and  had  but  lately  made  his  breakfast  on  a  cup 
of  coffee,  three  cigarettes,  and  the  racing  sheet  of  the 
Morning  Telegraph.  He  wore  his  pajama  jacket  over 
a  silk  undershirt,  and  was  now  resting  preparatory  to 
his  daily  battle  with  the  world.  Just  how  the  struggle 
went  or  where  it  was  waged  the  others  knew  not  at  all. 

His  mother  shook  her  head.  "Those  old  men  are  all 
alike.  Mr.  Hammon  will  never  marry  Lilas." 

"Is  that  so?"  James  abandoned  his  reading.  "The 
older  they  are,  the  softer  they  get.  Take  it  from  me,  on 
the  word  of  a  volunteer  fireman,  Lilas  will  cash  in  on  him 
quicker  than  you  think.  I  know." 

"How  do  you  know?"  inquired  his  sister. 

"Never  mind  how.  Maybe  I've  got  second  sight. 
Anyhow,  the  info  is  right;  Hammon's  in  the  game-bag." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Maybe  I  got  it  in  the  dog-eared  dope,"  mocked  the 
brother.  "Maybe  Max  Melcher  told  me.  Anyhow,  you 
could  land  Merkle  just  as  easy  if  you'd  declare  Max  in." 

"Now,  Jim,"  protested  Mrs.  Knight,  "I  won't  let  you 
put  such  ideas  into  her  head.  You  and — that  gang  of 
yours — are  full  of  tricks,  but  Lorelei's  decent,  and  she's 
going  to  stay  decent.  You'd  get  everybody  in  jail  or  in 
the  newspapers." 

"Has  Maxey  ever  been  in  jail?  Has  Tony  the  Barber? 
No,  you  bet  they  haven't,  and  they  never  will  be.  This 
jail  talk  is  funny.  Just  wait  and  see  how  easy  Lilas  gets 
hers.  Of  course,  if  Lorelei  could  marry  Wharton,  that 
would  be  different,  but  he's  no  sucker." 

"How  is  Lilas  going  to  get  hers?"  insisted  Lorelei. 

"Wait  and  see."    James  returned  to  his  paper. 

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"She'll  never  marry  him.    She  hates  him." 

Jim  laughed,  and  his  sister  broke  out  irritably: 

"Why  be  so  mysterious?  Anybody  would  think  you'd 
robbed  a  bank." 

Jim  looked  up  again,  and  this  time  with  a  scowl.  "Well, 
every  time  I  come  through  with  a  suggestion  ma  crabs 
it.  What's  the  use  of  talking  to  a  pair  of  haymakers  like 
you,  anyhow?  I  could  grab  a  lot  of  coin  for  us  if  you'd 
let  me.  Why,  Maxey  has  been  after  me  a  dozen  times 
about  you,  but  I  knew  you  wouldn't  stand  for  it." 

"Blackmail,  eh?" 

Jim  was  highly  disgusted.  "What's  the  difference  how 
you  pronounce  it?  It  spells  k-a-l-e,  and  it  takes  a  good- 
looking  girl  to  pull  off  a  deal  in  this  town.  When  Lilas 
lands  Hammon  she'll  be  through  with  the  show  business 
for  good.  The  Kaiser  suite  on  the  Imperator  for  hers." 

Lorelei  flung  aside  her  napkin  with  an  exclamation. 

"What's  wrong  now?"  demanded  Jim.  "Sore  again 
because  I  offer  to  make  a  few  pennies  for  you  ?  All  right — 
play  for  Bob  Wharton.  I'd  like  to  meet  him,  though; 
he  can  do  me  a  lot  of  good." 

"How?" 

"Well,  he  dropped  eighty-four  hundred  in  Hebling's 
Sixth  Avenue  joint  the  other  night.  Maxey  owns  a  place 
on  Forty-sixth  Street  where  the  sky  is  the  limit." 

His  sister  was  staring  at  him  curiously.  She  had  voiced 
misgivings  concerning  his  activities  of  late,  but  Jim  had 
never  satisfied  her  inquiries.  Now  she  asked:  "What  is 
your  share?" 

The  young  man  laughed  a  little  uncomfortably.  "  Forty 
per  cent.  That's  usual.  If  he's  going  to  gamble  some 
where  I  might  as  well  be  in  on  it." 

Lorelei  turned  to  her  mother,  but  Mrs.  Knight  seemed 
puzzled  at  this  turn  of  the  conversation.  The  girl's  next 
words,  however,  left  no  doubt  as  to  her  feelings. 

"You're  a  fine  specimen,  aren't  you?"  Her  lip  curled; 

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mother  and  son  started  at  the  bitterness  of  the  tone. 
"You're  in  a  fine  business,  too,  blackmailing  with  Tony 
the  Barber's  crowd,  and  capping  for  a  jinny." 

"Who  said  anything  about  a  jinny?" 

"Ugh!  What  a  mess  you've  made  of  things.  Two 
years  ago  we  were  decent,  and  now — "  Lorelei's  voice 
broke;  her  eyes  filmed  over  with  tears.  "I'd  give  any 
thing  in  the  world  if  we  were  all  back  in  Vale.  It  took 
only  two  years  of  the  city  to  spoil  us." 

"Never  mind  the  dramatics,"  Jim  growled.  "What's 
your  kick?  You're  on  Broadway,  ain't  you?" 

"Yes,  with  a  six-room  flat  on  Amsterdam  Avenue. 
Pa  is  a  cripple,  you're  a  crook,  and  I'm — " 

The  mother  broke  in  sharply.  "  Jim  is  no  crook.  You've 
no  right  to  talk  like  this,  after  all  we've  done  for  you." 

"Sure.  Why  did  we  come  to  New  York,  anyhow?" 
echoed  the  young  man.  "What  brought  us  here?  Ain't 
you  having  the  time  of  your  young  life — parties,  presents, 
joy-rides,  every  day?  Gee!  I  wish  I  made  the  coin  you 
do." 

"I  hate  it." 

"Ha!  Better  try  Vale  again.  You'd  end  in  a  straight- 
jacket  if  you  did.  You  think  you  could  go  back,  but  you 
couldn't — nobody  can  after  they've  had  a  taste  of  the 
city." 

"It's  all  wrong.  The  whole  thing  is — rotten.  Some 
times  I  hate  myself."  Lorelei  choked. 

Mrs.  Knight  spoke  reprovingly.  "Don't  be  silly,  dear. 
You  know  we  did  it  all  for  you.  Peter  didn't  want  to 
leave  home,  and  Jim  had  a  good  job,  but  we  gave  up 
everything  to  let  you  have  a  chance.  Yes,  and  we've 
all  worked  for  you  every  minute  since.  Do  you  think  I 
like  this  stuffy  flat,  after  that  other  house  with  the  yard 
and  the  trees  and  the  sunshine?  Peter  lies  in  his  room 
here,  day  in  and  day  out,  and  never  has  a  moment's  com 
fort  or  pleasure.  I  don't  know  a  soul;  I  haven't  a  friend 

5  65 


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or  a  neighbor.  But  we're  not  complaining. "  Mrs.  Knight 
put  added  feeling  into  her  words.  "We  don't  want  you 
to  live  the  way  we've  had  to  live ;  we  want  you  to  be  rich 
and  to  have  things.  After  all  we've  done;  after  all  poor 
Peter  has  suffered — " 

"Don't!"  cried  the  girl,  falteringly.  .  "I  think  of  him 
every  hour." 

"He  isn't  the  sort  that  complains.  I  consider  it  very 
thoughtless  of  you  to  behave  as  you  do  and  make  it  harder 
for  us."  Mrs.  Knight  sniffed  and  wiped  her  eyes,  where 
upon  Lorelei  went  to  her  and  hid  her  face  upon  her 
mother's  shoulder. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  unkind,"  she  murmured,  "but 
sometimes  I'm  sick  with  disgust,  and  then  again  I'm 
frightened.  Where  are  we  heading?  What's  going  to 
become  of  us? — of  me?  That  man,  last  night — there 
was  something  in  his  face,  something  in  the  way  he  held 
me — just  as  if  I  were  his  for  the  taking.  It  isn't  the  first 
time  I've  seen  it,  either.  All  the  men  I  meet  are  beasts. 
That  whole  party  was  sordid  and  mean — old  men  drinking 
with  girls  and  pawing  them  over.  Mr.  Merkle  was  the 
only  nice  one  there."  The  mother  was  dismayed  to  feel 
her  daughter  shiver. 

"Good  Lord!  You  people  make  me  sick,"  cried  Jim, 
rising  and  making  for  his  room.  "Anybody'd  think 
you'd  been  insulted."  . 

When  he  had  gone  Mrs.  Knight  asked,  accusingly: 

"Lo*relei,  are  you  in  love?" 

"No.    Why?" 

"You've  said  some  queer  things  lately.  You've  worried 
me.  I  hope  you'll  never  be  tempted  to  do  anything  so — 
to  be  foolish.  Just  look  at  the  girls  who  have  made  silly 
matches;  they  all  go  back  to  work.  You  can't  be  too 
careful  with  the  men  you  meet,  for  you're  so  beautiful 
that  they'll  promise  you  anything  or  pretend  to  be  every 
thing  they  aren't.  I  don't  intend  to  let  you  make  a  mess 

66 


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of  things  by  marrying  some  chorus-man.  When  the  right 
person  comes  along  you'll  accept  him,  then  you'll  never 
have  to  worry  again.  But  you  must  be  careful." 

"Do  you  think  I'd  be  happy  with  a  man  like  Mr. 
Wharton?" 

"Why  not?  You'd  at  least  be  rich,  and  if  rich  people 
can't  be  happy,  who  can?  If  you  accepted  some  poor 
boy  he'd  probably  turn  out  to  be  a  drunkard  and  a  loafer, 
just  like  Wharton  is  now."  She  sighed.  "I'd  like  to  see 
you  settled ;  we  could  take  Peter  to  a  specialist,  and  maybe 
he  could  be  cured.  The  doctor  says  there  is  a  chance. 
But  it  would  take  a  world  of  money." 

"I'll  get  the  money." 

"How?" 

"Somehow.  If  you'd  let  me  economize  on  clothes, 
and  if  Jim  would  help  a  little,  we  could  save  enough." 

"Jim  has  all  he  can  do  to  take  care  of  himself — I'm 
sure  I  don't  know  how  he  manages — and  you've  got  to 
keep  up  appearances.  No;  Peter  will  have  to  wait  till 
you're  married — only  I  did  hope,  when  you  told  me  about 
Robert  Wharton,  that  he  might  be  the  one.  We  could  go 
abroad  and  get  the  help  of  those  German  surgeons.  I've 
always  wanted  to  travel." 

When  Lorelei  reached  the  theater  that  evening  she 
found  Lilas  Lynn  entertaining  a  caller  who  had  been 
more  than  once  in  her  thoughts  during  the  day.  Jim's 
reference  to  Max  Melcher  had  recalled  Mr.  Merkle's 
earnest  words  of  the  previous  night,  and,  although  her 
brother  had  implied  that  Melcher  was  engineering  the 
affair  between  Lilas  and  the  steel  man,  Lorelei  could  not 
bring  herself  to  take  the  statement  seriously.  It  was  too 
absurd.  She  could  not  imagine  how  such  a  thing  could 
be  managed  by  a  third  person,  or  how  he  could  profit  by 
it.  Her  stage  experience  had  acquainted  her  with  several 
intrigues  in  which  the  men's  names  were  nearly  as  prom 
inent  as  Hammon's;  but  in  no  case  had  anything  more 

67 


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serious  than  gossip  eventuated.  A  number  of  such  at 
tachments  had  resulted  in  happy  marriages,  although  at 
the  price  of  an  occasional  divorce.  She  remembered,  now 
that  she  thought  of  it,  that  Merkle  had  mentioned  the 
probability  of  that  very  thing  in  this  instance.  She  began 
to  doubt  the  banker's  unselfishness  and  to  question  his 
motives,  arguing,  as  she  had  done  at  first,  that  even  if 
Hammon  were  really  in  danger  it  was  no  business  of  hers. 

This  lesson  of  non-interference  in  the  affairs  of  others 
she  had  learned  during  her  recent  life,  spent  in  an  atmos 
phere  not  so  much  immoral  as  unmoral.  For  two  years 
she  had  moved  in  a  world  where  matters  the  mere  men 
tion  of  which  would  not  have  been  tolerated  in  Vale  were 
openly  discussed.  These  topics  were  treated  frankly, 
moreover,  and  with  a  wise  cynicism  which,  in  Lorelei's 
case,  had  proven  protective.  Gratuitous  advice,  how 
ever,  was  seldom  welcomed,  and  a  policy  of  "Hands  off" 
prevailed. 

Miss  Lynn's  visitor  was  a  well-tailored  man  who  gave 
a  first  impression  of  extreme  physical  neatness.  He  was 
immaculate  in  attire,  his  skin  was  fine,  his  color  fresh;  a 
pair  of  small,  imperturbable  eyes  were  set  in  a  smiling 
face  beneath  a  prematurely  gray  head.  Max  Melcher 
was  a  figure  on  Broadway;  he  had  the  entre'e  to  all  the 
stage-doors;  he  frequented  the  popular  cafe's,  where  he 
surrounded  himself  with  men.  Always  affable,  usually 
at  leisure,  invariably  obliging,  he  had  many  friends. 

At  Lorelei's  entrance  he  smiled  and  nodded  without 
rising,  then  continued  his  earnest  conversation  with  Miss 
Lynn.  None  of  their  words  were  audible  to  the  last  comer 
until  Melcher  rose  to  leave;  then  Lilas  halted  him  with  a 
nervous  laugh,  saying: 

"Remember,  if  it  doesn't  go,  it's  a  joke,  and  I  run  to 
cover." 

"It  will  go,"  he  told  her,  quietly,  as  he  strolled  out. 

"What  are  you  two  planning?"  inquired  Lorelei. 

68 


MAX    MELCHER  was  a  figure    on  Broadway;    he 
had  the  entree    to    all   the    stage-doors;    he  fre 
quented  the  popular  cafes. 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"Nothing.  Max  drops  in  regularly;  he  used  to  be 
sweet  on  me."  Lilas  completed  her  make-up,  then  fid 
geted  nervously.  "Gee!"  she  presently  exclaimed,  "I'm 
tired  of  this  business.  We're  fools  to  stay  in  it.  Think 
of  Atlantic  City  on  a  night  like  this,  or  the  mountains. 
This  heat  has  completely  unstrung  me."  She  rummaged 
through  the  confusion  on  her  table,  then  inquired  of  the 
dresser,  "Croft,  where  are  my  white  gloves?" 

"They  haven't  come  back  from  the  cleaner's,"  Mrs. 
Croft  answered. 

"Not  back?  Then  you  didn't  send  them  when  I  told 
you.  You're  getting  altogether  too  shiftless,  Croft.  When 
I  tell  you  to  do  a  thing  I  want  it  done." 

"I  sent  all  six  pairs — " 

"You  did  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"Oh,  Miss  Lynn;   I  hope  I  drop  dead  if — " 

"Don't  talk  back  to  me.  You  always  have  an  excuse, 
haven't  you?"  Lilas's  voice  was  strident;  her  face  was 
dark  with  sudden  anger.  "I've  a  notion  to  box  your 
ears — " 

'  Lorelei   broke  in  reprovingly.     "Lilas!     Croft  is  old 
enough  to  be  your  mother." 

"Yes,  and  she's  old  enough  to  have  some  sense,  but 
she  hasn't  got  it." 

"I  hope  I  drop  dead  if — " 

"I  hope  you  do,"  snapped  the  indignant  girl.  "I  told 
you  to  attend  to  them;  now  I've  nothing  but  soiled  ones." 

The  dresser  began  to  weep  silently.  She  was  a  small, 
timid  old  woman,  upon  whose  manifest  need  of  employ 
ment  Lorelei  had  taken  pity  some  time  before.  Her  for- 
getfulness  had  long  been  a  trial  to  both  her  employers. 

"That's  right;  turn  on  the  flood-gates,"  mocked  Lilas. 
"You  stop  that  sniveling  or  I'll  give  you  something  to  cry 
for.  I'm  nervous  enough  to-night  without  having  you  in 
hysterics.  Remember,  if  it  ever  happens  again  you'll 
go — and  you'll  take  something  with  you  to  think  about." 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

Seizing  the  cleanest  pair  of  gloves  at  hand,  she  flung  out 
of  the  room  in  a  fine  fury. 

"You  won't  let  her — fire  me?  I  need  work,  I  do," 
quavered  Mrs.  Croft. 

"Now,  now.  Don't  mind  her  temper.  But  you  really 
ought  to  see  to  her  gloves  when — " 

"I  hope  I  drop  dead  this  minute  if  I  didn't  send  'em 
out  the  very  day  she  told  me." 

"Croft,  you're  fibbing.     You  know  Lilas  is  excitable." 

"  Excitable  ?"  Croft  wiped  her  eyes  with  a  corner  of  her 
apron.  "Is  that  what  you  call  it?  How  ever  you  can 
bear  her  I  don't  see,  and  you  a  nice  girl.  She  won't  do 
you  no  good,  Miss  Knight." 

"Oh,  pshaw!    She  was  nervous." 

"  I  should  think  she  would  be.  I'll  be  glad  if  her  million 
aire  takes  her  out  of  the  business,  like  she  thinks  he  will. 
Poor  man!  He's  laying  up  trouble  for  himself,  that  he  is. 
She'll  land  him  in  the  divorce  court — with  her  flesh-light 
photographs." 

Lorelei  swung  around  from  her  mirror.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Oh,  I  heard  her  and  that  Jew — I  beg  pardon,  Miss 
Knight.  You  ain't  a  Jew,  are  you?" 

"What  about  the  flash-lights?" 

"There's  so  many  Hebrew  girls  in  the  profession —  Not 
that  I  don't  like  'em,  you  understand — " 

"Goon." 

"Well,  I  heard  enough  to  know  that  she's  up  to  some 
deviltry — her  and  that  Maxey  Melcher.  They've  got  a 
photographer  and  witnesses.  Your  brother  is  one  of 
'em." 

"Jim?    What—" 

"It's  true.  It's  a  bad  crowd  Mister  Jim's  in  with. 
And  there's  something  big  in  the  air.  Millions  it  is. 
And  her  saying  she'll  box  my  ears.  The  hussy!  I've 
heard  'em  talking  before  to-night." 

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"Tell  me  everything,  Croft — quickly." 

"I  have.    Only  you  better  warn  your  brother — " 

The  assistant  stage-manager  thrust  his  head  through 
the  curtains,  shouting:  "Your  cue,  Miss  Knight.  What 
the  devil — " 

With  a  gasp  Lorelei  leaped  to  her  feet  and  fled  from 
the  room. 

Mrs.  Croft  shook  her  head  mournfully,  snuffled  a  few 
times,  then  scowled  at  the  disarray  Lilas  had  left  behind. 
She  breathed  a  feeble  malediction  upon  the  cause  of  it, 
seized  a  hat-pin,  and,  holding  it  like  a  dagger,  thrust  it 
viciously  into  first  one,  then  another  of  the  gowns  hanging 
on  their  hooks. 

"  I  wish  you  was  in  'em,"  the  little  old  woman  exclaimed. 
She  replaced  the  pin,  then  surreptitiously  removed  some 
expensive  cologne  from  a  large  bottle,  transferring  the 
perfume  to  a  smaller  bottle  which  she  took  from  her  pocket, 
dabbed  her  nose  with  Lilas 's  powder-puff,  and  began  laying 
out  her  enemy's  next  change  of  costume. 

Lorelei  had  left  a  handful  of  silver  carelessly  exposed, 
and,  discovering  this,  Mrs.  Croft  counted  it.  The  pile 
was  sufficiently  large  to  reassure  her,  so  she  abstracted 
two  quarters;  then,  in  an  excess  of  caution,  returned  one 
coin  and  took  a  dime  in  its  place. 


CHAPTER  VI 

T  ORELEI  did  not  secure  another  word  alone  with 
1—rf  the  dresser  until  the  middle  of  the  second  act,  by 
which  time  Mrs.  Croft  was  her  own  colorless,  work-worn 
self  once  more. 

"I  don't  know  no  more  than  I  told  you,"  she  informed 
Lorelei.  "Mr.  Melcher  has  been  coming  here  for  a  long 
time,  and  he  always  talks  about  Mr.  Hammon.  I've 
heard  enough  to  know  that  him  and  her  is  after  his  money 
— millions  of  it.  Mister  Jim  can  tell  you  everything,  for 
he's  talked  about  it,  too,  when  you  were  on  the  stage. 
Lilas  mentioned  him  to-night  when  her  and  him  was 
talking  over  the  flesh-light  photographs.  She  said —  Oh, 
Gawd! — "  Mrs.  Croft  broke  off  her  narrative  suddenly, 
and,  falling  to  her  knees  in  a  prayerful  attitude,  began  ner 
vously  arranging  the  long  row  of  foot-gear  under  Miss 
Lynn's  table.  The  next  instant  the  owner  herself  burst 
into  the  room,  panting  from  a  swift  run  up  the  stairs. 

"Quick,  Croft !  Don't  be  all  thumbs,  now."  She  tossed 
a  sealed  letter  upon  her  table,  rapidly  unhooked  her  dress, 
and  stepped  out  of  it,  then  into  a  flame-colored  velvet 
gown  which  the  old  woman  held  for  her.  She  set  a  tre 
mendous  plumed  hat  upon  her  head,  impaled  it  deftly, 
patted  her  hair  into  more  becoming  shape,  and  then  seated 
herself,  extending  her  feet  for  a  change  of  slippers.  She 
took  the  moment  to  open  and  read  her  note. 

Lorelei  looked  up  from  her  sewing  at  a  little  cry  of 
rage  from  Lilas.  Miss  Lynn  had  torn  the  message  into 
bits  and  flung  it  from  her;  her  eyes  were  blazing. 

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"Damn  him!"  she  cried,  furiously,  rising  so  abruptly  as 
almost  to  upset  Mrs.  Croft.  "The  idiot!" 

"What  is  it?" 

"I — must  telephone — quick."  Half-way  to  the  door 
she  halted  at  Lorelei's  warning: 

' '  Wait ;  you  haven't  time. ' ' 

"Damn!"  repeated  the  elder  girl.  "I  must;  or — Lore 
lei,  dear,  will  you  do  me  a  favor?  Run  down  to  the  door 
and  telephone  for  me?  I  won't  be  off  again  till  the  cur 
tain,  and  that  will  be  too  late."  Lorelei  rose  obediently. 
"That's  a  dear.  Call  Tony  the  Barber's  place — I— I've 
forgotten  the  number — anyhow,  you  can  find  it,  and  ask 
for  Max.  Tell  him  it's  off;  he  can't  come." 

' '  Who  can't  come  ?    Max  ?" 

"No.  Just  say, '  Lilas  sends  word  that  it's  off;  he  can't 
come.'  He'll  understand.  Run  quick,  or  you  won't 
catch  him,  and —  He'll  kill  me  if  I  let  him  go.  I'll  call 
him  later,  to-night —  There's  my  cue  now.  Just  ask 
for  Max,  and  don't  use  his  last  name.  Thanks.  I'll  do 
as  much  for  you."  Lilas  was  off  with  a  rush,  and  Lorelei 
hastened  after  her,  speculating  vaguely  as  to  the  cause 
of  all  this  anxiety. 

The  telephone  at  the  back  of  the  Circuit  Theater  was 
located  inside  the  stage-door  and  occupied  one  end  of  the 
shelf  which  separated  Mr.  Regan's  hole  in  the  wall  from 
the  entrance-hall.  It  was  no  place  in  which  to  conduct  a 
private  conversation,  since  any  one  coming  or  going  could 
hear,  but  stage  telephones  are  not  installed  for  the  con 
venience  of  performers. 

As  Lorelei  hurried  down  the  passageway  a  man  in 
evening  dress  turned,  and  she  recognized  Robert  Wharton. 

"You  are  sent  from  heaven!"  he  cried,  at  sight  of  her. 
"I  enter  out  of  the  night  and  unburden  my  heart  to  this 
argus-eyed  watchman,  and,  lo!  you  come  flying  in  answer 
to  my  wish.  Quick  service,  Judge.  In  appreciation  of  your 
telepathy  I  present  you  with  some  lumbago  cure."  He 

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tossed  a  bank-note  to  Regan,  who  snatched  it  eagerly  on 
the  fly. 

Lorelei  forestalled  further  words.    "  Please — I  must  tele 
phone.    I  go  on  in  a  minute." 

"Fairy  Princess,  last  night  I  was  a  goldfish;  to-night 
I  am  an  enchanted  lover — " 

"Wait;  I'm  in  a  hurry."  She  thumbed  the  telephone- 
book  swiftly  in  search  of  her  number,  but  young  Wharton 
was  not  to  be  silenced. 

"Tell  him  it's  all  off,"  he  commanded.  "You  can't 
go;  I  won't  let  you.  Promise."  He  laid  a  hand  upon 
the  telephone  and  eyed  her  gravely.  "Don't  thwart  me — 
I'm  a  dangerous  man.  You  can't  use  our  little  'phone 
unless — " 

"Don't  be  silly.    I'm  telephoning  for  some  one  else." 

"That's  exactly  what  we  can't  permit.  The  'some  one 
else'  is  here — I'm  it." 

"No.no!" 

He  closed  one  eye  and  wagged  his  head,  grasping  the 
instrument  more  firmly. 

"Promise  to  tell  him —  It  is  a  'him,'  isn't  it?  Aha! 
My  intelligence  is  sublime.  Promise." 

"I  slapped  you  last  night;  I  promise  to  do  it  again," 
Lorelei  told  him,  sharply. 

"Something  whispered  that  you  did,  and  all  day  long 
I  have  been  angry;  but  to-night — now  that  I'm  in  my 
natural  condition — I  pass  the  insult.  I  offer  you  my  hand 
and  my  other  cheek  in  case  you  want  to  try  a  left  hook. 
But  I  come  with  another  purpose.  Outside  is  a  chariot 
with  ninety  horses — French  rating — champing  at  the 
throttle.  We  are  going  away  from  here." 

"You're  drunk  again,  Mr.  Wharton?" 

He  glanced  at  the  clock  over  Regan's  head  and  shook 
his  head  in  negation.  "It's  only  ten-*twenty.  In  two 
hours  from  now — " 

"Give  me  that  'phone." 

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FAIRY  PRINCESS,  last  night  I  was  a  goldfish; 
to-night  I  am  an  enchanted  lover — " 


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"Promise  to  tell  him  it's  all  off." 

She  smiled.     "All  right.     I'll  use  those  very  words." 

Wharton  hesitated.    "I  trust  you." 

"I'm  going  to  tell  him  he  can\come,"  she  said,  holding 
out  her  hand. 

Once  the  instrument  was  hers  she  oscillated  the  hook 
with  nervous  finger,  staring  doubtfully  at  the  cause  of 
her  delay.  Wharton,  as  on  the  evening  before,  carried 
his  intoxication  with  an  air.  He  was  steady  on  his  feet, 
immaculate  in  dress,  punctilious  in  demeanor;  only  his 
roving,  reckless  eye  betrayed  his  unnatural  exhilaration. 

The  Judge  had  enjoyed  the  scene.  He  chuckled;  he 
clicked  his  loose  false  teeth  like  castanets.  Bob  turned 
at  the  sound  and  regarded  him  with  benignant  interest, 
his  attention  riveted  upon  the  old  man's  dental  infirmity. 

"You're  quite  a  comedian,"  Regan  wheezed. 

"Click  'em  again,"  said  Bob,  pleasantly.  "Wonderful! 
Age  has  its  compensations.  Play  'Home,  Sweet  Home' 
when  you  get  'em  tuned  up.  Or  perhaps  they  are  for 
sale'" 

Lorelei  secured  her  number  and  was  surprised  to  recog 
nize  her  brother's  voice.  She  made  herself  known,  to 
Jim's  equal  amazement,  and  then  inquired: 

"Is  Max  there?" 

"Sure.    He's  outside  in  the  automobile." 

"Call  him,  please." 

"What  do  you  want  of  him?  How'd  you  know  I  was 
here?" 

"Never  mind.    Call  him  quickly." 

During  the  wait  Wharton  ejaculated:  "Ha!  'Jim,' 
'Max.'  Men's  names!  Mr.  Regan,  kindly  grind  your 
teeth  for  me.  No?  Will  you  grind  them  for  a  dollar? 
Jealousy  business.  Thanks." 

At  last  Melcher's  voice  came  over  the  wire,  and  Lorelei 
recited  her  message.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then 
she  explained  how  she  came  to  be  talking  instead  of  Lilas. 

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He  thanked  her  and  she  heard  him  muttering  as  he 
hung  up.  She  turned  to  find  her  annoyer  nodding  with 
satisfaction. 

"Splendid!  I  thank  you;  my  father  thanks  you;  my 
family  thanks  you.  Now  where  would  you  like  to  dine?" 

"  How  can  a  person  get  rid  of  you?"  she  inquired,  stiffly. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know — it  isn't  being  done.  But  I'll 
try  to  think.  Wear  your  prettiest  gown,  won't  you?  for 
I  intend  to  enrage  all  the  other  fellows." 

"This  is  an  invitation,  eh?" 

"The  first  of  a  nightly  series.  Life  is  opening  out  for 
you  in  a  wonderful  manner,  Miss  Knight.  Don't  refuse; 
my  legs  have  petrified,  and  a  gang  of  safe-movers  couldn't 
budge  me." 

She  turned  with  a  shrug  of  mingled  annoyance  and 
amusement,  and  he  called  after  her: 

"The  Judge's  teeth  will  entertain  me  till  you  come. 
I'll  be  waiting." 

Miss  Lynn,  as  she  dressed  after  the  performance,  was 
still  in  an  evil  temper;  but  she  thanked  her  room-mate 
for  aiding  her ;  then,  as  if  some  explanation  were  due,  she 
added,  "That  note  was  from  Jarvis." 

"You  puzzle  me,  Lilas,"  Lorelei  told  her,  slowly.  "I 
don't  think  you  care  for  him  at  all." 

Lilas  laughed.  "  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  I  adore  him, 
but  we  had  an  engagement  and  he  broke  it.  Men  are  all 
selfish:  the  bigger  they  are  the  more  selfish  they  become. 
They  never  do  anything  you  don't  make  them." 

"He  can't  sacrifice  his  business  for  you." 

"Sacrifice!  It's  women  who  sacrifice  themselves. 
D'you  suppose  any  of  those  men  we  met  last  night  would 
sacrifice  himself  for  anything  or  anybody?  Not  much. 
They  are  the  strong  and  the  mighty.  They  got  rich 
through  robbery,  and  they're  in  the  habit  of  taking  what 
ever  they  want.  They  made  their  money  out  of  the  blood 
and  suffering  of  thousands  of  poor  people,  so  why — " 

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"Poor  people  don't  buy  steel." 

"No;  but  they  make  it.  I  knew  Mr.  Wharton  and  the 
rest  of  them  years  ago,  for  I  was  born  and  raised  in  a  fur 
nace  town.  My  father  worked  in  a  Bessemer  plant — 
until  he  was  killed.  What  I  saw  there  made  me  an  an 
archist." 

Through  the  open  window  overlooking  the  alley  came 
a  sound  of  singing ;  two  voices  raised  in  doubtful  harmony, 
one  loud  and  strong,  the  other  rasping,  hoarse,  and  un 
certain. 

Of  all  the  girls  that  I  adore, 

There's  none  so  sweet  as  Sa-a-a-hall-ee. 

"Ouch!    Who's  that?"  queried  Lilas. 

"Bob  Wharton  and  the  Judge.  Wharton's  waiting  to 
take  me  to  supper." 

"Drunk,  as  usual,  of  course.  Think  of  a  fool  like  that 
with  millions  behind  him — millions  that  his  father  wrung 
out  of  sweating,  suffering  foreigners  like  my  father.  He's 
squandering  blood-money.  That's  what  it  is — blood- 
money." 

"You  are  bitter  to-night.  Is  Mr.  Hammon  living  on 
blood-money,  too?" 

"Yes;  he  is." 

"Is  that  why  you're  planning  to  blackmail  it  out  of 
him?" 

Lilas  paused  in  her  dressing  and  turned  slowly,  brows 
lifted.  Her  dark  eyes  met  the  blue  ones  unwaver 
ingly. 

"Blackmail?  What  are  you  talking  about?"  Mrs. 
Croft  went  pale,  and  retired  swiftly  but  noiselessly  into 
the  lavatory,  closing  the  door  behind  her.  "What  did 
Max  tell  you  over  the  'phone?"  asked  Lilas,  sharply. 

"Nothing." 

"Then  where  did  you  get — that?    From  Jim?" 

"Jim's  pretty  bad,  I  imagine,  but  he  keeps  his  bad- 

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ness   to   himself.     No.     I've  overheard   you  and  Max 
talking." 

"  Nonsense.  "We've  never  mentioned  such  a  thing.  The 
idea  is  absurd.  I  get  mad  at  Jarvis — he's  enough  to  mad 
den  anybody — perhaps  I'm  jealous,  but  blackmail!  Why, 
you're  out  of  your  head." 

The  girls  had  nearly  finished  dressing  when  a  commo 
tion  sounded  in  the  hall  outside  and  Mrs.  Croft,  after 
investigation,  reported  that  Robert  Wharton  had  been 
forcibly  expelled  from  a  dressing-room.  He  could  be 
heard  gently  apologizing  and  explaining  that  he  was  in 
quest  of  a  Fairy  Princess,  whereupon  Lorelei  hastily  locked 
her  door. 

"That's  the  worst  of  these  swells,"  observed  Lilas,  as 
she  left.  "They  pay  high  and  go  anywhere  they  please. 
Bergman  caters  to  them." 

Lorelei  delayed  her  toilet  purposely,  and  finally  dis 
missed  Croft;  then  she  wrote  a  note  to  John  Merkle,  in 
care  of  his  bank.  By  this  time  the  cavernous  regions  at 
the  rear  of  the  theater  were  nearly  deserted.  She  listened ; 
but,  hearing  Wharton  still  in  conversation  with  the  watch 
man,  she  locked  her  door  once  more  and  sat  down  to 
wait.  As  she  fingered  the  note  a  doubt  formed  in  her 
mind — a  doubt  as  to  the  advisability  under  any  circum 
stances  of  leaving  written  evidence  in  another's  hands. 
Finally  she  destroyed  the  missive,  determining  to  make 
use  of  the  telephone  on  the  following  day.  As  to  just  what 
to  do  after  that  she  was  undecided. 

When  quiet  had  finally  descended  she  opened  her  door 
cautiously  and  peered  out.  Robert  Wharton  sat  on  the 
top  step  of  the  stairway  near  at  hand,  but  his  head  rested 
against  the  wall,  and  he  slept.  Beside  him  were  his  high 
hat,  his  gloves,  and  his  stick.  As  Lorelei,  with  skirts  care 
fully  gathered,  tiptoed  past  him  she  saw  suspended  upon 
his  gleaming  white  shirt-bosom  what  at  first  glance  re 
sembled  a  foreign  decoration  of  some  sort,  but  proved  to 

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be  Mr.  Regan's  false  teeth.  They  were  suspended  by  a 
ribbon  that  had  once  done  duty  in  the  costume  of  a  cory 
phee  ;  they  rose  and  fell  to  the  young  man's  gentle  breath 
ing. 

Lorelei  carried  out  her  intention  of  telephoning  on  the 
following  day,  and  about  the  close  of  the  show  that  night 
Merkle's  card  was  brought  up  to  her  dressing-room.  A 
moment  later  Robert  Wharton's  followed,  together  with 
a  tremendous  box  of  long-stemmed  roses.  She  went  down 
a  trifle  apprehensively,  for  by  this  time  the  current  tales 
of  Bob's  drunken  freaks  had  given  her  cause  to  think 
somewhat  seriously,  and  she  feared  an  unpleasant  encoun 
ter.  More  than  once  she  had  witnessed  quarrels  in  the 
alleyway  behind  the  Circuit,  where  pestiferous  youths  of 
Wharton's  caliber  were  frequent  visitors. 

But  Mr.  Merkle  relieved  her  mind  by  saying,  "I  sent 
Bob  away  on  a  pretext,  although  he  swore  you  had  an 
engagement  with  him." 

"  I'm  glad  you  did.  I  left  him  asleep  outside  my  dress 
ing-room  last  night,  and  I  almost  hoped  he'd  caught 
pneumonia." 

Beside  the  curb  a  heavy  touring-car  was  purring,  and 
into  this  Merkle  helped  his  companion.  "  I'm  not  up  on 
the  etiquette  of  this  sort  of  thing,"  he  explained,  "but  I 
presume  the  proper  procedure  is  supper.  Where  shall  it 
be— Sherry's?" 

Lorelei  laughed.  "You  are  inexperienced.  The  Johns 
never  eat  on  Fifth  Avenue,  the  lights  are  too  dim.  But 
why  supper?  You  can't  eat." 

"A  Welsh  rarebit  would  be  the  death  of  me;  lobsters 
are  poison,"  he  confessed;  "but  I've  read  that  chorus- 
girls  are  carnivorous  animals  and  seek  their  prey  at 
midnight." 

"Most  of  them  would  prefer  bread  and  milk;  anyhow, 
I  would.  But  I'm  not  hungry,  so  let's  ride — we  can  talk 

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better,  and  you're  not  the  sort  of  man  to  be  seen  in  public 
with  one  of  Bergman's  show-girls." 

The  banker  acquiesced  with  alacrity.  To  his  driver  he 
said,  "Take  the  Long  Island  road." 

As  the  machine  glided  into  noiseless  motion  Lorelei 
noted  a  limousine  waiting  near  by,  and  saw  a  dim  figure 
within.  The  dome-light  had  been  turned  off,  and  she 
could  detect  only  a  white  shirt-front,  the  blurred  outline  of 
a  face,  and  the  glowing  point  of  a  cigar. 

"You  can  follow  that  man's  example  if  you  wish," 
said  she,  "and  hide  until  we're  away  from  the  bright 
lights." 

Merkle  answered  shortly,  "Your  reputation  may  suffer, 
not  mine."  He  leaned  forward  and  inquired  of  the  chauf 
feur,  "Who's  car  is  that?" 

"Mr.  Hammon's,  sir.  He's  going  our  way,  so  his  man 
said." 

"I  thought  so.    We'll  have  company." 

"Why  do  you  choose  the  Long  Island  road?"  asked 
Lorelei. 

"It's  pleasant,"  responded  Merkle.  "I  ride  nearly 
every  night,  and  I  like  the  country.  You  see,  I  can't  sleep 
unless  I'm  in  motion.  I  get  most  of  my  rest  in  a  car; 
there's  something  about  the  movement  that  soothes  me." 

"How  funny!" 

"Peculiar,  perhaps,  but  scarcely  humorous.  I'd  be  dead 
or  insane  without  an  automobile.  You  see,  I'm  nothing 
but  a  rack  of  bones  strung  together  with  quivering  nerves 
— always  been  so,  and  I'm  getting  worse.  I  keep  four 
French  cars  in  my  garage,  all  specially  built  as  to  spring- 
suspension  and  upholstery,  and  I  spend  nearly  every  night 
in  one  or  the  other  of  them.  It's  seldom  I  do  less  than 
a  hundred  miles  between  midnight  and  morning;  some 
times,  when  I'm  bad,  I  do  twice  that.  So  long  as  I'm 
moving  fast  I  manage  to  snatch  a  miserable  sort  of  repose, 
but  the  instant  we  go  slow  I  wake  up.  It's  the  sensation 

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of  flight,  the  music  of  a  swift-running  motor,  the  wind 
blowing  in  my  face,  that  lulls  me;  but  it's  getting  harder 
all  the  time.  I  used  to  sleep  at  twenty  miles  an  hour;  now 
I  can't  relax  under  thirty.  Forty  is  fine — sixty  means 
dreamless  peace." 

"It  does,  indeed,  if  one  happens  to  have  a  blowout," 
laughed  the  girl. 

"I  have  trouble  keeping  chauffeurs.  The  darkness 
breaks  their  nerve,  and  they  play  out  in  two  or  three 
months.  I've  known  them  to  crack  under  the  strain  in 
a  week,  and  yet  all  the  time  I  want  to  go  faster — faster. 
Some  night,  when  a  bolt  breaks,  or  my  driver's  eye 
and  hand  fail  to  co-ordinate,  it  will  all  end,  I  suppose,  in 
a  twinkling,  and — I'll  get  a  good  rest  at  last.  Meanwhile 
I  thank  Heaven  and  Mr.  Vanderbilt  for  the  Motor  Park 
way." 

The  car  had  threaded  the  after-theater  congestion  of 
traffic  with  a  swiftness  that  testified  to  the  practised 
hand  on  the  wheel,  and  was  now  darting  through  un 
frequented  side-streets  where  the  asphalt  lay  in  the  shad- 
dows  like  dark  pools.  Up  the  approach  to  the  Queens- 
borough  Bridge  it  swept,  and  took  the  long  incline  like  a 
soaring  bird.  Overhead,  the  massive  towers  pierced  the 
night  sky;  the  steel-ribbed  skeleton-tunnel  rushed  past 
the  riders;  far  beneath,  the  river  itself  lay  like  a  sheet  of 
metal,  glittering  here  and  there  with  the  yellow  lights  of 
ships.  Blackwell's  Island  slipped  under  them,  an  inky 
bottomless  pit  of  despair,  out  of  which  points  of  fire 
gleamed  upward — like  faint,  steady-burning  sparks  of 
hope  in  the  hearts  of  miserable  men.  The  breath  of  the 
overheated  city  changed  as  by  magic,  and  the  thin-faced 
sufferer  at  Lorelei's  side  drank  it  in  eagerly.  Even  in 
the  dim  flash  of  the  passing  illuminations  she  noted  how 
tired  and  worn  he  was,  and  a  sudden  pity  smote  her. 

"Won't  you  pretend  I'm  not  here,  and  drive  just  as  you 
always  do?  I  won't  mind,"  she  said. 

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"My  dear,  it's  late.    You'll  need  to  get  home." 

"No,  no." 

"Really?"  His  eagerness  was  genuine.  "Won't  your 
people  worry?" 

Her  answer  was  a  short,  mirthless  laugh  that  made  him 
glance  at  her  curiously.  "They  know  I'm  perfectly  safe. 
It's  the  other  way  round:  a  man  of  your  standing  takes 
chances  by  being  alone  with  a  woman  of — mine." 

"Which  reminds  me  of  Miss  Lynn  and  Mr.  Hammon. 
You've  decided  to  accept  my  offer?" 

"No.    I  can't  be  a  hired  spy." 

"You  said  over  the  'phone  that  you  had  learned  some 
thing." 

"I  have.  I  believe  there  is  an  effort  on  foot  to  get  some 
of  Mr.  Hammon's  money  dishonestly.  I  have  a  reason 
for  wishing  to  prevent  it." 

"I  knew  I  wasn't  mistaken  in  you,"  smiled  Merkle. 

"Oh,  don't  attribute  my  actions  to  any  high  moral 
motives!  I'm  getting  a  little  rusty  on  right  and  wrong. 
Personally,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  Mr.  Hammon,  and 
I  don't  imagine  he  acquired  all  of  his  tremendous  fortune 
in  a  perfectly  honorable  way.  Besides,  he's  a  married 
man." 

"It  isn't  alone  Jarvis  or  his  family  or  their  money  that 
is  concerned,"  Merkle  said,  gravely.  "Great  financial 
institutions  sometimes  rest  on  foundations  as  slight  as 
one  man's  personality — one  man's  reputation  for  moral 
integrity.  A  breath  of  suspicion  of  any  sort  at  the  wrong 
time  may  bring  on  a  crash  involving  innocent  people. 

"  Hammon  at  this  moment  carries  a  tremendous  top- 
heavy  burden  of  responsibilities;  his  death  would  be  no 
more  disastrous  than  a  scandal  that  would  tend  to  destroy 
public  confidence  in  him  as  a  man." 

"Doesn't  he  know  that  himself?" 

"Perhaps.  But  his  infatuation  overtook  him  at  an  age 
when  a  man  is  a  fool.  Young  men  are  always  objects  of 

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"OACRIFICE!       It's  women  who  sacrifice    themselves. 
O  sacrifice  himself  for  anything  or  anybody?" 


D'you  suppose  any  of  those  men  we  met  last  night  would 


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suspicion  in  the  financial  world,  for  their  emotions  are 
unruly;  but  when  old  men  fall  in  love  they  are  superbly 
heedless  of  consequences.  I  promised  to  tell  you  something 
about  Jarvis,  and  I  will,  since  you  spoke  of  his  married 
life.  To  begin  with,  his  father  and  his  father's  father 
were  steel- workers.  They  came  from  Cornwall  before  he 
was  born,  and  Jarvis  grew  up  in  the  glare  of  the  Pennsyl 
vania  furnaces.  From  the  time  he  could  walk  he  never 
knew  anything,  never  heard  anything  except  steel.  He 
inherited  all  the  driving  strength  of  his  father  and  devel 
oped  such  a  remarkable  business  ability  that  he  became  a 
rolling-mill  superintendent  almost  before  he  was  of  age. 
They  say  he  never  did  less  than  two  men's  work  and  often 
more;  but  he  could  make  others  work,  too,  and  there  lay 
the  secret  of  his  success.  He  was  indefatigable;  he  was  a 
machine;  he  never  rested,  nor  played,  nor  relaxed,  as 
other  men  do.  He  just  worked;  and  his  mill  held  the  ton 
nage  record  for  years. 

"When  the  Corporation  was  formed  he  played  a  big 
part  in  the  deal  and  got  a  big  slice  of  the  profits.  He  had 
been  successful,  noted:  at  one  turn  of  the  wheel  he  be 
came  enormously  wealthy.  The  story  of  Alladin  is  noth 
ing  to  the  story  of  the  men  who  took  part  in  that  com 
bination.  Hammon  went  into  other  things  than  steel, 
and  he  prospered.  He  never  failed  at  anything.  Now, 
here  comes  the  part  of  the  story  that  interests  me  most 
of  all  and  will  interest  you  if  you  can  understand  the 
workings  of  a  man's  mind.  Jarvis  had  no  vices  and  but 
one  hobby — at  least  his  vices  were  neutral,  for  he  had  never 
taken  time  to  acquire  the  positive  kind.  His  hobby  was 
Napoleon  Bonaparte.  He  read  everything  there  was  to 
read  about  Napoleon;  he  studied  his  life  and  patterned 
his  own  on  similar  lines.  His  collection  of  Napoleona  is 
the  finest  in  this  country;  he  is  an  authority  on  French 
history  of  that  period  —  in  fact,  he's  as  nearly  hipped 
on  the  subject  as  a  man  of  his  powers  can  be  con- 


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sidered  hipped  on  anything.  Do  I  bore  you,  Miss 
Knight?" 

"No;  go  on.    I'm  tremendously  interested." 

"Well,  naturally,  Hammon  began  to  consider  himself 
another  Napoleon,  and  his  accomplishments  were  in  a 
way  quite  as  wonderful;  his  strategy  was  quite  as  brilliant, 
and  his  victories  quite  as  complete.  He  even  confided  to 
me  once  that  his  idol  surpassed  him  in  only  one  respect — 
namely,  the  power  to  relax — a  pardonable  conceit,  under 
the  circumstances.  Jarvis  had  never  taken  time  for  relaxa 
tion,  and  he  was  beginning  to  wear  out ;  and  so — he  delib 
erately  set  about  learning  to  play.  The  Emperor  of 
France,  so  history  tells  us,  took  his  greatest  pleasure  in  the 
company  of  women;  therefore  Hammon  sought  women, 
just  as  he  had  sought  and  gained  financial  conquest.  He 
doesn't  know  the  taste  of  defeat;  so  the  result  was  fore 
ordained." 

"But  surely  he  thought  something  of  his  family,"  pro 
tested  Lorelei.  "Didn't  he  consider  them?" 

"I  fancy  he  wasn't  well  acquainted  with  his  family. 
I'm  sure  he  never  enjoyed  any  home  life,  as  we  understand 
it.  He  lived  with  a  rich  old  woman  who  bore  his  name 
but  scarcely  knew  him ;  his  daughters  were  grown  women 
whom  he  saw  on  rare  occasions  and  whose  extravagant 
whims  he  gratified  without  question.  But  there  was  little 
real  intimacy,  little  sympathy.  Remember,  Jarvis  had 
been  a  boy,  but  he  had  never  been  young,  and  this  was 
his  first  taste  of  youth.  But — he  was  not  Napoleon.  As 
you've  noticed,  he's  quite  mad  on  the  Lynn  woman.  He's 
no  longer  himself.  He  has  been  drugged  by  her  charms, 
and — now  he's  paying  the  price.  I  wanted  you  to  know 
the  story  before  we  went  any  further.  Now  tell  me  what 
you  have  learned." 


CHAPTER  VII 

BY  the  time  Lorelei  had  completed  her  recital  of  those 
occurrences  that  had  excited  her  suspicions  the  car 
was  rolling  out  the  roads  leading  toward  the  Long  Island 
plains,  and,  with  head-lights  ablaze,  was  defying  all  speed 
laws.  Other  vehicles  on  their  way  home  to  the  fashionable 
estates  of  Wheatley  Hills,  Hempstead,  and  the  South 
Shore  were  overhauled  and  left  behind.  The  big  machine 
had  begun  its  long  night-song,  and  it  flashed  over  the 
rises  or  dipped  into  the  swales  with  the  gliding  ease  of 
movement  characteristic  of  an  aeroplane.  It  went  with 
almost  the  silence  of  a  phantom — only  the  sustained  mur 
mur  of  the  motor,  the  whisper  of  the  whirling  tires  as  they 
parted  from  the  road  surface,  the  rush  of  the  night  wind 
pouring  past,  came  to  the  ears  of  the  passengers.  These 
softly  rhythmic  sounds,  combined  with  the  swaying  of 
the  deep  cushions,  were  decidedly  restful,  and  had  there 
been  nothing  to  challenge  her  sight  Lorelei  felt  that  she, 
too,  might  have  been  soothed  as  Merkle  was.  But  she 
was  fascinated,  hypnotized  by  the  gleaming  tunnel  of  light 
into  which  she  was  being  hurled.  The  blazing  panorama 
of  fence,  forest,  and  hedge  that  took  dim  shape  out  of  the 
blackness  grew,  rushed  at  her,  then  leaped  away  into 
oblivion,  dazzled  her  too  much  for  relaxation.  Merkle, 
however,  had  drawn  the  conversation-shield  rearward,  and 
in  its  shelter  leaned  back  with  eyes  closed.  He  seemed 
asleep,  but  after  a  time  he  spoke  abruptly: 

1 '  Melcher  is  a  shrewd  man.    He  wouldn't  tackle  a  black 
mailing  job  of  this  size  without  protection;   otherwise  I 

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could  put  him  out  of  the  way  very  quickly.     I  dare  say 
Miss  Lynn,  herself,  doesn't  know  who  is  behind  him." 

"Why  don't  you  warn  Mr.  Hammon  at  once?" 

Merkle  rolled  his  head  loosely.  "You  don't  know  the 
man.  His  self-reliance  is  so  monumental,  his  scorn  of 
opposition  is  so  deep,  that  he  would  laugh  at  the  idea  of  a 
plot  against  him.  Then,  too,  he's  mad  about  the  woman, 
and  he'd  probably  tell  her  everything  I  said.  After  all, 
we  have  only  our  suspicions  to  go  upon." 

Merkle  dozed  again,  half  buried  in  the  cushions.  They 
had  passed  Jamaica;  the  country  lay  dark  and  silent  on 
every  side  save  for  a  dim-lit  window  here  and  there.  The 
car  was  eating  the  miles  in  a  flight  as  swift  and  undeviating 
as  that  of  an  arrow ;  but  it  was  not  until  it  had  swept  into 
the  Motor  Parkway  that  the  girl  fully  understood  what 
her  host  termed  fast  driving. 

Then  it  was  that  the  chauffeur  let  the  machine  out. 
Over  the  deserted  plains  it  tore,  comet-like,  a  meteor  pre 
ceded  by  a  streamer  of  light.  It  swung  to  the  banked 
curves  with  no  slackening  of  momentum ;  it  devoured  the 
tangents  hungrily;  the  night  wind  roared  past,  drowning 
all  other  sounds.  Crouched  immovably  in  his  seat,  the 
driver  scanned  the  causeway  that  leaped  into  view  and 
vanished  beneath  the  wheels,  like  a  tremendous  ribbon 
whirling  upon  spools.  Merkle  lay  back  inertly,  lolling  and 
swaying  to  the  side-thrust  of  the  cushions;  but  Lorelei 
found  her  fists  clenched  and  her  muscles  hard  with  the 
nervous  strain.  Finally  she  pushed  the  shield  forward, 
and,  leaning  over  the  front  seat,  stared  at  the  tiny  dash- 
light.  The  finger  of  the  speedometer  oscillated  gently  over 
the  figure  sixty,  and  she  dropped  back  with  a  gasp.  They 
had  been  running  thus  for  a  long  time. 

Merkle  roused  to  say,  "Is  this  too  fast  for  you,  Miss 
Knight?" 

She  laughed  nervously.  "N-no.  I'm  sorry  I  woke 
you." 

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After  a  moment  he  startled  her  by  inquiring,  "Why 
don't  you  marry  Bob  Wharton?" 

She  tore  her  eyes  from  the  reeling  shadows  in  front  and 
peered  at  him. 

"What  makes  you  think  I  like  him  well  enough?" 

"  I  don't.    But  he's  the  sort  you're  looking  for,  isn't  he?" 

She  nodded.  "I  can't  expect  to — marry  a  decent  man. 
I've  learned  that  much." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then,  "It  would  be  a  great  pity," 
he  said. 

"You're  not  complimentary.  Perhaps  I'm  not  so  bad 
as  I  appear." 

"I  didn't  mean  that.  It  would  be  too  bad,  on  your 
account.  I — like  you.  Maybe  it's  your  beauty  that  has 
gone  to  my  head;  no  man  could  remain  quite  sane  in 
your  company."  He  turned  his  tired,  bright  eyes  upon  her, 
and  Lorelei  stirred  uncomfortably.  "You're  quite  differ 
ent  to  what  I  first  thought  you." 

"Oh  no!  I'm  exactly  what  you  thought.  I've  seen  Mr. 
Wharton  only  twice." 

"He's  crazy  about  you.  He  acts  wholly  upon  impulse, 
of  course.  It  ought  to  be  easy." 

Merkle  inquired  the  time  of  his  chauffeur,  then  directed 
him  to  turn  homeward  along  the  North  Shore. 

"I  sha'n't  be  selfish  and  keep  you  out  any  longer,  Miss 
Knight,"  he  said.  "If  you  don't  mind  I'll  doze  on  the 
way  in,  and  try  to  figure  out  the  next  move  in  this  Ham- 
mon  affair." 

The  return  trip  was  another  hurtling  rush  through  the 
night,  in  a  silence  broken  only  by  Merkle 's  demand  for 
more  speed  whenever  the  machine  slackened  its  labor. 
The  miles  wheeled  past;  the  Sound  lay  to  the  right. 

They  were  sweeping  over  a  rolling  North  Shore  road 
when  suddenly  out  of  the  blackness  ahead  blazed  two 
blinding  headlights.  With  startling  abruptness  they  ap 
peared  over  the  crest  of  a  rise;  Merkle's  driver  swung  to 

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the  right.  But  the  road  was  narrow;  a  trolley  track  was 
under  construction,  and  along  the  edge  of  the  amasite 
was  strewn  a  row  of  steel  rails,  guarded  by  occasional 
red  lanterns.  The  strange  car  held  to  its  course;  there 
was  a  blast  of  horns,  a  dazzling  instant  of  intense  illumina 
tion,  then  a  crash  as  the  inside  mud-guards  met.  Merkle's 
car  seemed  to  leap  into  the  air;  there  was  a  report  of  an 
exploding  tire;  Lorelei  felt  a  sickening  sense  of  insecurity, 
and  found  herself  hanging,  bruised  and  breathless,  across 
the  back  of  the  driving-seat.  The  automobile  was  bucking 
and  bumping,  as  if  the  pavement  had  been  turned  into 
a  corduroy  road ;  then  it  came  to  a  pause,  half  in  the  ditch. 
Merkle  was  jammed  into  an  awkward  coil  on  the  floor 
of  the  tonneau,  but  raised  himself,  swearing  softly.  The 
other  car  held  to  its  course,  and  whizzed  onward,  leaving 
in  its  wake  a  drunken  shout  of  mockery  and  defiance. 

The  catastrophe  had  taken  but  an  instant.  The  three 
were  alone,  and  their  machine  disabled  almost  in  a  breath. 
Merkle  inquired  anxiously  if  Lorelei  were  hurt ;  the  chauf 
feur  ran  after  the  offending  car,  yelling  anathemas  into 
the  night.  He  returned  slowly,  mopping  his  face,  which 
had  been  cut  by  fragments  from  the  shattered  wind 
shield. 

"Joy-riders,"  he  muttered.  "They  wouldn't  give  way, 
and  threw  me  into  those  rails." 

"Narrow  shave,  that.  I  wonder  we  weren't  all  killed." 
Merkle  eyed  the  car's  crumpled  mud-guard  and  running- 
board,  then  directed  his  driver  to  ascertain  the  extent 
of  the  damage.  The  motor  was  still  throbbing,  but  a  brief 
examination  disclosed  a  broken  steering-knuckle  and  a 
bent  axle  in  addition  to  an  injured  wheel. 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,  Miss  Knight;  but  I'll  have  to  send 
for  another  car,"  apologized  Merkle. 

"Is  this  splendid  machine  ruined?" 

He  shrugged.  "  That's  the  curse  of  these  roads.  Some 
body  is  always  driving  recklessly."  Lorelei  smiled  at  mem- 

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ory  of  the  miles  they  had  covered  so  swiftly;  but  she 
saw  that  he  was  serious  and  in  a  sour  temper.  "One 
risks  his  life  on  the  whim  of  some  drunken  idiot  the  mo 
ment  he  enters  a  motor-car.  Now  for  a  telephone."  A 
terse  question  to  his  man  served  to  fix  their  location. 

"We're  not  far  from  the  Chateau,"  Merkle  interpreted 
the  answer.  "That  place  is  always  open,  so  if  you  don't 
mind  the  walk  we'll  go  ahead.  It  will  take  an  hour  to 
get  one  of  my  other  machines,  but  meanwhile  we  can  have 
a  bite  to  eat."  At  her  cheerful  acceptance  his  tone 
changed. 

"You're  all  right.  Some  women  would  be  hysterical 
after  such  a  shake-up.  I  swear,  I  think  I  feel  it  more 
than  you.  If  you  were  a  man  I'd  like  to  have  you  for  a 
chum." 

Together  they  set  out  through  the  starlight,  leaving 
the  chauffeur  with  instructions  to  secure  help  from  the 
nearest  garage;  and  as  they  followed  the  dim  road  Mer 
kle  continued  to  apologize  until  Lorelei  silenced  him. 
Both  were  beginning  to  suffer  from  the  reaction  of  their 
fright. 

It  was  very  late;  there  was  little  sign  of  habitation,  for 
the  road  led  through  a  wooded  country.  Before  long, 
however,  they  came  in  sight  of  lights,  which  Merkle  hailed 
with  relief. 

The  Chateau  was  a  quasi-roadhouse  of  some  architec 
tural  dignity,  widely  advertised  as  being  under  the  same 
management  as  one  of  the  smart  Broadway  cafes,  and 
supplying  the  same  food  and  drink,  at  twice  the  Broad 
way  price.  Its  service  was  unsurpassed  by  any  city 
restaurant,  and,  being  within  an  hour's  run  by  motor,  it 
received  a  liberal  patronage.  Tips  were  large  at  the 
Chateau;  its  hospitality  was  famous  among  those  who 
could  afford  the  extravagance  of  midnight  entertainment ; 
and  yet  it  was  a  quiet  place.  No  echo  of  what  occurred, 
within  its  walls  ever  reached  the  outside  world.  Sea-food,. 

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waffles,  privacy,  and  discretion  were  its  recognized  special 
ties,  and  people  came  for  miles — mainly  in  pairs — to 
enjoy  them. 

As  the  pedestrians  neared  the  avenue  of  maples  leading 
up  to  the  house  they  espied  in  the  road  ahead  of  them 
first  the  dull  red  glow  of  a  tail-light,  then  a  dusty  license 
plate. 

" There's  luck,"  Merkle  ejaculated.    "  I'll  rent  this  car." 

In  the  gloom  several  figures  were  standing,  facing  in  the 
direction  of  the  Chateau,  and  when  Merkle  spoke  they 
wheeled  as  if  startled. 

"No,  you  can't  hire  this  machine.  What  do  you  think 
this  is,  a  cab-stand?"  answered  a  gruff  voice. 

"Jim!"  cried  Lorelei,  and  ran  forward. 

Her  breathless  amazement  at  the  meeting  was  no 
greater  than  her  brother's.  "Sis!  What  the  devil  are 
you  doing  here?"  he  managed  to  say.  One  of  the  men 
who  had  been  kneeling  over  a  case  of  some  sort,  dimly 
outlined  in  the  radiance  of  a  side-light,  rose  and  placed 
his  burden  in  the  tonneau. 

"I'm  ready,"  he  announced. 

Young  Knight  showed  some  nervousness  and  appre 
hension — emotions  which  his  companions,  judging  by  their 
alert  watchfulness,  fully  shared.  Jim  seized  his  sister  by 
the  arm  and  led  her  aside. 

" How  the  deuce  did  you  get  here — and  who  is  this  guy?" 
He  jerked  his  head  toward  Merkle. 

Lorelei  introduced  her  companion  and  made  known  the 
cause  of  their  present  plight. 

"Humph!"  grunted  Jim.  "What  d'you  suppose  ma  '11 
say  to  this — you  out  all  night  with  a  man?" 

"What  are  you  doing?  Who  are  those  people?"  she 
retorted. 

"Never  mind.  But  say — I  don't  like  the  looks  of  this 
affair." 

For  -a  second  time  Merkle  appealed  to  Jim.  "If  you 

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can't  take  your  sister  home  I'll  have  to  telephone  for 
another  car." 

Jim's  tone  was  disagreeable  as  he  replied:  "You  two 
don't  look  as  if  you'd  been  wrecked.  Where's  your 
driver?"  Merkle's  fist  clenched;  he  muttered  something, 
at  which  Jim  laughed  harshly. 

"Now  don't  get  sore,"  said  the  latter;  "I'm  not  going 
to  make  trouble,  only  I  want  to  know  where  you've  been." 

A  bare-headed  man  came  running  across  the  lawn  and 
flung  himself  into  the  waiting  automobile.  One  of  Jim's 
companions  called  his  name  sharply. 

"Will  you  take  me  home?"  his  sister  implored. 

"Can't  do  it.  I'll  see  you  later,  and  you,  too,  Merkle." 
His  last  words,  delivered  as  he  swung  himself  upon  the 
running-board  of  the  car,  sounded  like  a  threat ;  a  moment 
later,  and  the  machine  had  disappeared  into  the  night. 

"Hm-m!  Your  brother  has  a  suspicious  mind,"  Merkle 
said.  "I  hope  he  won't  make  you  any  trouble." 

"He  can't  make  trouble  for  me."  Lorelei's  emphasis 
on  the  last  word  made  her  meaning  clear;  her  companion 
shrugged : 

"Then  there's  no  harm  done,  I  assure  you." 

They  turned  in  upon  the  driveway,  walking  silently,  then 
as  they  neared  the  Chateau  they  became  aware  of  an  un 
usual  commotion  in  progress  there.  Men  were  running 
from  stable  to  garage,  others  were  scouring  the  grounds; 
from  the  open  door  came  a  voice  pitched  high  in  anger. 
The  speaker  was  evidently  beside  himself  with  wrath.  He 
was  shouting  orders  to  scurrying  attendants,  and  abusing 
the  manager,  who  hovered  near  him  in  a  frantic  but 
futile  effort  at  pacification. 

The  enraged  person  proved  to  be  Jarvis  Hammon.  He 
was  hatless,  purple-faced,  shaken  with  combative  fury. 
At  first  the  two  new-comers  thought  he  was  dangerously 
drunk,  but,  as  they  mounted  to  the  tiled  terrace  which 
served  as  an  outdoor  eating-place  they  saw  their  mistake. 

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Recognizing  Merkle,  Hammon's  manner  changed  in 
stantly. 

"John!"  he  cried.    "By  God!  you're  just  in  time." 

"What's  happened?" 

"Blackmail,  or  worse.  I  hardly  know,  myself.  These 
ruffians  put  up  something  on  me — they're  all  in  it,  even 
the  manager." 

The  latter,  a  sleek  Frenchman  with  ferocious  mustaches 
and  frightened  eyes,  wrung  his  hands  in  supplication. 

"M'sieu  'Ammon,"  he  bleated,  "you  ruin  me,  Soch 
accusation  is  terrible.  But  wait.  Calmness.  The  man 
will  be  caught." 

"Caught,  hell!"  roared  the  steel  magnate.  "You  know 
who  he  is.  Give  him  to  me.  How  did  he  get  in  here  if 
you  didn't  know  him?  How  did  he  get  his  camera  fixed 
without  your  knowledge?  I'll  have  your  scalp  for  this. 
I'll  close  this  place  and  the  city  place,  too."  A  uniformed 
doorman  appeared  with  a  smoking  lantern  in  his  hand, 
and  Hammon  wheeled  upon  him.  "Well?  Did  vou 
find  him?" 

"We  can't  find  nobody.  There  was  a  car  outside  the 
grounds,  but  it's  gone  now." 

Merkle  interposed.  "Will  you  tell  me  what  has  hap 
pened?" 

"It  is  terrible,  incredible,  M'sieu,"  wailed  the  manager. 

"Same  old  story,  John.  I  came  out  here  for  a  quiet 
supper  with — a  lady.  I've  been  coming  here  regularly. 
They  got  us  into  a  private  room,  then  took  a  flash-light, 
and — there  you  are.  I  made  a  rush  for  the  waiter  as  soon 
as  I  realized  what  had  occurred,  but  he'd  skipped.  Every 
body's  skipped,  photographer  and  all.  Nobody  knows 
anything.  Blamedest  bunch  of  idiots  I  ever  saw."  He 
ground  his  teeth. 

Lorelei,  who  had  remained  in  the  background,  turned 
suddenly  sick  at  memory  of  that  mysterious  party  at  the 
gate;  she  understood  now  the  significance  of  the  man  with 

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the  box  and  of  the  fleeing  figure  that  had  come  through 
the  darkness. 

The  terrified  manager  continued  his  heartbroken  la 
ment,  and  Hammon  seemed  about  to  destroy  him  when 
Merkle  drew  the  latter  aside,  speaking  in  an  undertone. 

Hammon  listened  briefly,  then  broke  out: 

"Nonsense.  I'd  stake  my  life  on  her.  Why,  she's 
prostrated.  It's  either  pure  blackmail,  or  it's  my  wife's 
work.  She's  had  detectives  on  me  for  some  time."  Merkle 
murmured  something  more.  "Oh,  come  now!  I  know 
what  I'm  talking  about,  and  I  won't  stand  for  that,"  cried 
Hammon. 

Merkle  shrugged;  his  next  words  were  audible,  and  they 
were  both  sharp  and  incisive. 

"  The  harm's  done.  They  got  away  clean.  Now  we've 
got  to  kill  the  story  and  kill  it  quick  in  case  they  intend 
it  for  the  papers." 

"My  God!  Newspapers — at  this  time,"  groaned  the 
other.  "It  couldn't  be  worse." 

"Right.    We  must  move  fast.    Is  your  car  here?" 

"Yes." 

"Get  it.  We'll  go  in  with  you.  I  had  an  accident  to 
mine." 

"You'll  see  for  yourself  that  you're  wrong — about  the 
other."  Hammon  jerked  his  head  meaningly  toward  the 
house,  then  strode  away  to  order  his  motor. 

Merkle  favored  his  young  companion  with  a  wintry 
smile. 

"It  seems  we're  too  late." 

Lorelei  nodded  silently.  "Don't  tell  him  who — spoke 
to  us  out  there.  Not  yet,  at  least.  I — can't  see  him  go 
to  jail." 

"Jail?  There  won't  be  any  jail  to  this — there  never  is. 
Jarvis  will  have  to  settle  for  the  sake  of  the  rest  of  us." 

Hammon's  limousine  rolled  in  under  the  porte-cochere, 
and  a  moment  later  the  owner  appeared  with  Lilas. 

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Lorelei  stared  at  her  friend  in  genuine  surprise,  for  it 
was  obvious  that  Lilas  was  deeply  agitated.  Her  face  was 
swollen  with  weeping;  she  verged  upon  hysteria.  No 
sooner  were  the  four  in  the  car  and  under  way  than  she 
broke  down,  sobbing  wretchedly. 

"It's  all  my  fault.  I  might  have  known  he  was  up  to 
something;  but  I  didn't  think  he'd  dare — "  she  managed 
to  say. 

"  He  ?    Who  ?"  Merkle  asked  her. 

"Max  Melcher.    This  is  his  doing." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"He  as  much  as  told  me.  If  I  hadn't  been  a  fool  I'd 
have  guessed,  but  he —  Oh,  I  could  kill  myself!"  She 
burst  into  strangling  sobs  and  hysteric  laughter. 

"Why  did  you  let  him  come  to  the  dressing-room?" 
Lorelei  inquired. 

"  He's  been  doing  it  for  years.  I've  always — known  him. 
We  were — engaged." 

Hammon  verified  this.  "That's  right.  They  were 
engaged  when  I  met  her.  She  didn't  know  the  sort  of 
ruffian  he  is  till  I  proved  it.  She's  afraid  of  him,  and  he 
knows  it." 

"I  tried  to  break  with  him,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me,  and 
I've  had  to  be  nice  to  him.  He'd  have  me  murdered  if  I — " 

"Rot!"  Merkle  exclaimed,  testily. 

"Rot,  eh?"  Jarvis  answered.  "He's  done  as  much, 
more  than  once;  but  he's  so  powerful  that  nobody  can 
get  him.  He's  the  king  of  his  ward;  he  keeps  a  gang  of 
gunmen  on  the  East  Side,  and  he's  the  worst  thug  in 
the  city." 

Lilas  substantiated  this,  giving  further  details  as  to 
Melcher's  reputation,  and  then  broke  down  again,  weeping 
with  such  miserable  abandon  that  Lorelei  for  the  first 
time  began  to  doubt  her  own  previous  convictions.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  such  emotion  could  be  counterfeit, 
and  Lilas's  plausible  explanations  did  indeed  make  it 

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"  My  dear,  I  never  saw  a  king— outside  of  a  pinochle  deck 


You  never  really  believed  that  king  stuff,   did  you?" 


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appear  that  Melcher  was  the  resentful  victim  of  an  infatua 
tion.  Lorelei  cast  a  troubled  glance  at  Merkle  and  found 
that  he,  too,  gave  signs  of  uncertainty. 

Hammon  soothed  his  charmer  in  his  clumsy,  elephantine 
way,  showing  that,  despite  Merkle's  recent  insinuations, 
he  still  trusted  her.  "This  is  the  only  woman  who  ever 
cared  for  me,  John,"  he  explained,  after  some  hesitation, 
"and  we're  going  to  stick  together.  We  have  no  secrets." 

"Your  little  Fifth  Avenue  establishment  rather  compli 
cates  matters,  doesn't  it  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
that?"  Merkle  inquired. 

"This  thing — to-night — is  likely  to  settle  the  matter  for 
me.  You  know  the  kind  of  home  life  I've  led  for  twenty 
years,  and  you  know  I  wouldn't  regret  any  change.  When 
a  man  goes  ahead  and  his  wife  stands  still  the  right  and 
wrong  of  what  either  chooses  to  do  is  hard  to  settle.  At 
any  rate,  it  has  ceased  to  concern  me.  I  want  a  few  years 
of  happiness  and  companionship  before  I  die.  I'm  selfish — 
I'll  pay  the  price." 

They  rode  on  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  Lorelei  awoke  on  the  following  afternoon  her 
first  inquiry  was  for  Jim ;  but  he  had  not  come 
home,  and  her  mother  knew  nothing  of  his  whereabouts. 
Lorelei  ate  her  breakfast  in  silence;  then,  in  reply  to  a 
question,  accounted  for  the  lateness  of  her  arrival  by 
saying  that  she  had  dined  with  Mr.  Merkle. 

At  the  name  Mrs.  Knight  pricked  up  her  ears ;  vulture- 
like,  she  undertook  to  pick  out  of  her  daughter  all  that 
had  occurred,  down  to  the  most  insignificant  detail.  Lorelei 
had  always  made  a  confidant  of  her  mother  in  such  cases, 
even  to  the  repetition  of  whole  conversations;  but  this 
time  the  latter's  inquisitiveness  grated  on  her,  and  she 
answered  the  questions  put  to  her  grudgingly.  Just  why 
she  felt  resentful  she  scarcely  knew.  Certainly  she  had 
no  interest  in  Mr.  Merkle,  nor  suffered  the  least  embarrass 
ment  over  their  exploit.  Rather,  on  this  afternoon,  she 
beheld  with  unusual  clarity  her  present  general  life,  and 
that  of  her  family,  feeling  more  keenly  than  usual  the 
utter  sordidness  of  their  whole  scheme  of  existence.  Un 
welcome  thoughts  of  this  sort  had  come  of  late,  and  would 
not  be  banished.  Once  she  had  made  a  pet  of  a  magpie, 
but  the  bird's  habits  had  forced  her  to  dispose  of  it.  She 
remembered  the  way  it  forever  pried  into  things;  how 
nothing  was  safe  from  that  sharp  beak  and  inquisitive 
eye.  Its  waking  hours  had  been  busied  in  a  tireless,  furtive 
search  for  forbidden  objects.  Now  she  could  not  help 
likening  her  mother  to  the  bird,  although  the  thought 
shocked  her.  There  was  the  same  sly  angle  of  counte- 

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nance,  a  similar  furtiveness  of  purpose;  the  very  expres 
sion  of  Mrs.  Knight's  keen,  hard  eyes  was  like  nothing  so 
much  as  that  of  the  magpie's.  Displeased  at  her  own 
irritation,  Lorelei  made  the  excuse  of  a  shopping  trip  to 
escape  from  the  house. 

At  the  nearest  news-stand  she  bought  the  afternoon 
papers,  and  was  relieved  to  find  no  mention  of  the  incidents 
of  the  night  before.  It  appeared  that  Hammon  and 
Merkle  had  succeeded  in  their  attempt  to  suppress  the 
story — if,  indeed,  there  had  ever  been  any  intention  of 
making  it  public. 

Looking  back  upon  last  night's  homeward  ride,  she 
was  wholly  at  a  loss.  In  view  of  Jim's  words  and  of  what 
she  had  gathered  at  the  theater  she  had  felt  sure  of  Lilas's 
complete  knowledge  of  the  blackmail  plot,  but  Hammon's 
unwavering  faith  in  the  girl  and  Lilas's  own  story  of  her 
relations  with  Max  Melcher  had  awakened  a  doubt.  If 
Lilas  had  told  the  whole  truth,  and  if  she  really  cared 
for  Hammon,  the  affair,  despite  its  clandestine  nature, 
would  bear  a  more  favorable  construction,  and  Lorelei 
could  not  entirely  withhold  her  sympathy  from  the  offend 
ing  pair.  Of  the  two  Hammon  was  the  more  blame 
worthy;  but  his  domestic  unhappiness  in  a  measure  can 
celed  his  guilt — so,  at  least,  said  the  code  under  which 
Lorelei  lived.  What  concerned  her  far  more  than  the 
moral  complexion  of  the  liaison,  was  her  brother's  connec 
tion  with  the  unlawful  scheme  of  extortion.  Jim,  she 
saw,  had  gone  wrong  with  a  vengeance,  and  the  conse 
quences  to  him  troubled  her,  for  in  spite  of  all  that  he 
might  be  or  do  she  cherished  a  sisterly  affection  for  him. 
Family  ties  were  very  real  and  very  strong  to  her — strong 
enough  to  keep  her  loyal  to  her  kin  even  after  the  demoral 
izing  change  in  her  whole  mode  of  life.  The  firmest,  in 
fact,  the  only  bond  that  she  had  ever  known,  was  that  of 
blood ;  obedience,  faithfulness,  and  affection  had  been  born 
in  her,  and  she  never  thought  to  question  their  sacredness. 

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Idling  down  Fifth  Avenue,  she  found  herself  in  front  of 
a  fashionable  department  store.  A  knot  of  curious  people 
were  gaping  at  a  unique  automobile  which  stood  in  the 
line  of  vehicles  along  the  curb,  and  she  paused  to  look. 
The  equipage  was  snow-white  in  color;  its  upholstery 
was  of  soft,  white  leather;  the  chauffeur  and  a  stiff- 
backed  footman  were  in  blood-red  with  white  facings  on 
their  livery.  Upon  their  left  sleeves  was  worked  the  gold 
monogram  "  A.  D . "  In  their  caps  both  men  wore  cockades 
that  resembled  shaving-brushes.  A  tiny  mop  of  a  lap- 
dog,  imprisoned  within  the  closed  body  of  the  car,  was 
barking  frenziedly  at  the  throng.  He  was  an  animated 
bundle  of  cotton,  with  shoe-button  eyes  sewed  into  one 
end.  As  for  the  car  itself,  Lorelei  decided  it  to  be  a 
combination  of  every  absurd  tradition  of  the  coach- 
builder's  art.  Across  the  doors,  in  gold  letters  an  inch 
high,  was  the  name  "Adored  Demorest." 

As  she  entered  the  store  Lorelei  reflected  with  some 
disgust  that  no  visiting  Rajah,  no  barbaric  potentate — no 
one,  in  fact,  except  a  self-advertised  musical-comedy  queen 
— would  so  flagrantly  defy  good  taste  as  to  ride  in  such 
a  vehicle. 

She  was  engaged  in  her  final  purchase  when  a  dazzling 
creature  in  red  and  white  descended  upon  her  with  excla 
mations  of  surprise  and  delight.  It  was  Mademoiselle 
Demorest  herself,  and  her  greeting  was  so  effusive  that 
the  stream  of  shoppers  halted  in  the  aisle.  Mademoiselle 
Demorest  wore  a  gown  of  a  style  that  proved  her  taste  in 
dress  as  individual  as  her  choice  of  motor-cars.  A  war 
like  head-decoration  of  aigrette  feathers  burst  into  spray 
above  her  right  ear;  the  wrists  of  her  white  gloves  bore 
her  monogram  worked  in  gold-thread  to  match  those 
that  ornamented  the  livery  of  her  servants.  A  heavy 
string  of  white-coral  beads,  the  size  of  cherries,  was  looped 
about  her  neck,  and  she  carried  the  mate  to  the  excitable 
poodle  that  defied  the  curiosity-seekers  outside.  All  in 

no 


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all,  she  was  a  figure  to  awaken  interest  in  the  nightly  per 
formance  at  the  Palace  Garden,  and  to  cause  men  cus 
tomers  to  forget  their  change. 

"Miss  Knight!  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  again,"  she 
burbled.  "How  sweet  you  look!"  The  poodle  pawed 
frantically  and  yelped  a  shrill  appreciation  of  the  meeting. 
"I  hoped  we'd  meet  again;  but  where  have  you  been? 
I —  Hush,  Francois !  Shake  hands  with  the  lady,  there's 
a  dear."  Francois  squirmed  violently  and  snapped  at  a 
small  boy  whose  mother  had  pushed  forward  to  stare  at 
the  notorious  beauty. 

Lorelei  laughed.     "How  well  he  minds!" 

"He  hates  children — they  excite  him." 

The  woman  with  the  child  turned  to  a  companion,  ex 
claiming  audibly:  "Those  are  the  King's  rubies — see! 
Ain't  they  nice  and  white?" 

A  fat  matron  beside  Lorelei  elbowed  her  way  forward; 
in  one  hand  she  carried  a  pair  of  embroidered  silk  stock 
ings,  with  the  other  she  raised  a  lorgnette.  After  a  meas 
ured  scrutiny  her  lips  tightened,  her  nose  lifted,  she 
blew  loudly  like  a  porpoise,  and,  gathering  her  skirts 
closely,  waddled  away,  as  if  fleeing  from  contagion.  She 
continued  to  clutch  the  hosiery  until  a  floor-walker,  in 
answer  to  the  clerk's  frantic  signal,  intercepted  her. 
Another  crowd  promptly  gathered  to  listen  to  her  indig 
nant  denial  of  guilt. 

"Have  you  finished  your  shopping?"  Adoree  inquired. 
"Then  do  come  and  help  me, match  some  rose  du  Barry. 
I've  no  more  eye  for  color  than  Francois.  Pink  is  just 
another  shade  of  blue  to  me." 

"Gee!  He's  alive,  all  right,"  piped  the  small  boy, 
whose  eyes  were  glued  upon  the  poodle.  "Ma,  what 
does  a  live  dog  cost?" 

Lorelei  felt  herself  flushing  uncomfortably  under  the 
stares  of  the  onlookers,  and,  glad  to  escape,  she  moved 
away  beside  the  undisturbed  cause  of  all  the  furore. 

in 


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Miss  Demorest  seemed  genuinely  delighted  at  this 
encounter.  She  clung  to  her  companion,  chattering  viva 
ciously;  then,  when  the  rose  du  Barry  had  been  matched, 
she  suggested  tea. 

"We'll  run  right  over  to  the  Waldorf — my  car  is  out 
side."  But  Lorelei  declined,  explaining  lamely  that  she 
did  not  care  for  public  places. 

"Really?" 

"Really.  People  point  out  one — and  I  get  enough  of 
that." 

The  dancer's  expression  and  tone  changed  abruptly. 
"I  supposed  you  were  like  all  the  others." 

"Well,  I'm  not.  When  I'm  away  from  the  theater  I 
try  to  forget  it.  I — hate  the  business." 

The  reply,  which  came  with  sincere  feeling,  widened 
Lorelei's  eyes  with  uncontrollable  surprise. 

"Here,  too,"  said  Adoree  Demorest,  quietly.  "But 
I'm  not  allowed  to  forget  it.  Our  first  meeting  made  me 
think  you  were — out  with  banners.  I  was  hired  on  that 
occasion  to  be  naughty.  What  do  you  say  to  some  real 
tea  at  my  house?  Just  you  and  I?" 

Lorelei's  heart  sank  at  thought  of  that  gaudy  machine 
outside,  but  there  was  an  honest  appeal  in  the  speaker's 
eyes,  and,  moreover,  the  memory  of  her  own  obligation 
rose  to  prevent  her  from  appearing  ungrateful.  "I'd  be 
delighted,"  she  falsified,  and,  gurgling  with  appreciation, 
Miss  Demorest  hurried  her  toward  the  nearest  exit.  In 
the  street,  however,  Adore"e  paused,  and  her  next  words 
showed  that  she  was  not  wanting  in  womanly  intuition. 

"I  sha'n't  inflict  you  with  a  ride  in  that  circus-wagon. 
It's  all  right  for  me,  but — you're  one  of  the  decent  kind. 
If  you  have  a  reputation  it  won't  do  to  parade  it  in  a 
show-case.  We'll  take  a  taxi."  Lorelei's  relief  must  have 
been  obvious,  for  Adoree  sped  swiftly  to  the  corner,  then 
was  back  again  without  the  dog.  "If  there's  anything 
more  conspicuous  than  a  blonde  with  a  white  poodle," 

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she  explained,  "it's  two  blondes  with  two  poodles."  Then 
she  flung  herself  into  the  cab  and  slammed  the  door. 

"You  must  think  I'm  very  rude,"  her  guest  ventured. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  know  just  how  you  feel."  Miss 
Demorest's  smile  was  a  trifle  strained.  "Only — I'm 
awfully  lonesome,  and — I'll  take  care  that  nobody  sees 
us." 

"Now  I  know  I've  been  nasty."  Lorelei  felt  her  em 
barrassment  growing,  for  this  woman  differed  entirely 
from  what  she  had  expected.  Underneath  the  dancer's 
extravagant  theatricalism  she  appeared  natural  and  un 
affected.  Adore"e  changed  the  current  of  the  conversa 
tion  by  saying: 

"I  hope  those  bloodhounds  get  to  fighing." 

"Don't  you  like  them?" 

"Hate  'em!  I'd  use  'em  to  scrub  the  windshield  if  I 
had  my  way." 

"Why — aren't  they  yours?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so;  as  much  as  that  rubber-tired  igloo 
is  mine.  They're  my  props,  like  the  two  British  Peers 
on  the  box.  Gee!  I'd  like  to  stick  chewing-gum  in  the 
side-whiskers  of  the  tall  one — the  one  with  the  cramps 
in  his  elbows.  His  name's  Riley,  and  he  gets  nine  dollars 
a  week  for  looking  like  that.  A  man's  board  bill  isn't 
particular  how  it's  made  nowadays." 

"How — funny!"  Lorelei  was  eying  the  speaker  with 
undisguised  curiosity.  "You're  not  a  Frenchwoman?" 

"Agnes  Smith  is  the  name.  Decent  by  descent,  but  an 
actress  by  advertising.  What's  your  game?" 

"Um-m — My  nose  is  straight;  I  don't  limp;  so  I'm 
an  actress  by  force  of  feature." 

"Married?" 

"Hardly." 

"Want  to  be?" 

"Got  to  be." 

Both  girls  laughed  unaffectedly. 

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"I  like  you,"  said  the  dancer.  "Do  you  mind  if  I  get 
•out  of  this  cast-iron  corset  and  into  a  kimono  when  we 
get  home?" 

"Have  you  a  spare  one?" 

""Dozens;  but  they're  not  very  clean." 

"' That's  lovely.    And  let's  make  the  tea  weak." 

"Oh,  I  can't  drink  anything  strong!  I'm  an  awful 
counterfeit." 

"I'm  beginning  to  think  so.  I — wonder  if  I'm  dream 
ing." 

The  girls  had  much  in  common;  they  chattered  con 
tinuously  through  the  short  ride,  and  when  they  alighted 
from  the  taxi-cab  they  disputed  over  the  right  to  pay  for 
it.  When  the  guest  was  ushered  into  Adoree's  apartment 
she  received  another  surprise,  for  the  place  was  neither 
elaborate  nor  showy.  It  consisted  merely  of  two  large, 
comfortable  rooms  overlooking  a  side-street  lined  with 
monotonous  brown-stone  boarding-houses  which  for  the 
most  part  were  inhabited  by  doctors,  dressmakers,  and 
semi-professional  people. 

A  battered  tea-kettle  was  set  to  boil  over  an  absurd 
alcohol-stove  that  required  expert  assistance  to  maintain 
its  equilibrium.  Adore"e  flung  out  of  her  finery  and  donned 
a  Japanese  robe,  offering  another  to  Lorelei.  A  plate  of 
limber  crackers  was  unearthed  from  somewhere,  also  the 
disreputable  remains  of  a  box  of  marshmallows ;  and  these 
latter  Madamoiselle  Demorest  toasted  on  a  hat-pin. 

"You're  the  most  extraordinary  person,"  her  guest  at 
length  remarked.  "Aren't  you  going  to  show  me  your 
jewels  or — anything  like  that?" 

"You  probably  have  better  jewels  of  your  own,"  care 
lessly  replied  Adoree;  then  she  voiced  a  very  tame  and 
womanly  oath  as  a  marshmallow  dripped  into  the  flames. 
"Pickles!  I  spoiled  that  one." 

"But  the  Cabachon  rubies  are  real." 

"Sure.  So  is  the  'square  toe'  who  brings  'em  and  takes 

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'em  away;  so  is  the  bond  that  covers  'em.  Lordy,  but 
they  are  pretty!" 

"Then  the  King  didn't  give  them  to  you?" 

"My  dear,  I  never  saw  a  king — outside  of  a  pinochle 
deck.  If  I  lost  one  of  those  rubies  the  Maiden  Lane  Shy- 
lock  who  owns  them  would  tear  enough  curled  hair  out 
of  his  beard  to  fill  a  mattress.  ^You  never  really  believed 
that  King  stuff,  did  you?" 

"Why,  yes." 

"I  had  no  idea  it  worked  so  well."  Again  Miss  Demo- 
rest  smiled  crookedly.  "No  wonder  you  didn't  want  to 
go  to  the  Waldorf  with  me;  I  wonder  you  consented  to 
come  here." 

"Your  advance  work  is  great — " 

"I  knew  the  public  swallowed  it;  but  I  supposed  the 
profession  knew  press  stuff  when  they  saw  it.  I  sang  and 
danced  for  ten  years  in  this  country  and  never  got  better 
time  than  the  schutzen  parks  and  air-domes — seven  shows 
a  day  and  a  change  of  act  each  week.  I  was  Agnes  Smith 
then.  Somehow  I  got  the  price  of  a  ticket  to  England, 
and  I  figured  the  music-halls  would  rave  over  a  good  kid 
imitation;  but,  bless  you,  I  starved!  I  was  closed  the 
first  place  I  played — got  the  hook.  I  ate  Nabiscos  till 
I  got  another  date,  then  I  pulled  the  air-dome  stuff  that 
had  scored  in  Little  Rock  and  Michigan  City,  and  it  got 
by  somehow.  My  mother  was  a  Canuck,  so  I  knew  some 
French,  and  eventually  I  reached  the  Continent.  There 
I  met  the  Old  Nick.  You  may  think  the  devil  is  a  tall, 
dark  man  with  the  ace  of  spades  on  his  chin  and  a  figure- 
six  tail — that's  what  he  looks  like  on  the  ham-cans;  but 
in  reality  he's  a  little  fat,  bald  man  with  a  tenor  voice, 
and  he  eats  cloves.  His  name  is  Aubrey  Lane,  and  he 
can't  stand  hot  weather.  Never  heard  of  him,  eh?  Well, 
neither  had  anybody  else  until  I  met  him.  He  was  in 
Paris  selling  patent  garters  at  the  time.  He  saw  me  work 
at  a  cabaret  and  told  me  I  was  good,  but  not  good  enough. 


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I'd  known  that  for  years,  so  he  didn't  hurt  my*  feelings. 
He  confessed  that  he  was  tired  of  working  and  intended 
to  have  me  make  a  lot  of  money  for  him,  but  warned  me 
that  he  had  expensive  tastes  and  I'd  have  to  pay  well  for 
the  privilege.  He  was  right;  I  did.  But  here  I  am  in 
electric  lights  on  Broadway  while  he  is  exercising  a 
wheeled  chair  at  Atlantic  City." 

"He's  your  manager?" 

"He  is  that  very  little  thing.  He  told  me  I  could  sing 
until  my  back  ached  and  never  get  anywhere  because  I 
lacked  brains.  Then  he  offered  to  make  me  a  star  if  I'd 
allow  him  to  hitch  his  chariot  to  me — on  a  share  of  the 
gross.  There  was  one  trifling  sacrifice  I  had  to  make  in 
the  nature  of  my  personal  reputation — so  he  told  me. 
He  said  I'd  have  to  be  the  best  or  else  the  worst  actress 
in  the  world  in  order  to  land  big  and  support  him  in  the 
luxury  he  craved.  I  couldn't  hope  to  be  the  best,  so  he 
made  me  the  worst.  He  began  by  tying  a  can  to  the 
'Agnes  Smith,'  and  handed  me  'Adoree  Demorest'  in 
stead;  then  he  went  to  work.  He  really  did  work,  too, 
although  it  nearly  killed  him,  and  he's  never  done  any 
thing  since.  I  forgot  to  mention  that  I  signed  a  contract 
with  him  which  lawyers  tell  me  is  the  finest  example  of 
air-tight,  time,  weather,  and  water  proof  construction 
that  has  been  seen  since  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
It  fits  closer  than  a  rubber  shirt,  always  retains  its  shape, 
lasts  longer  than  old  age,  and — no  metal  can  touch  you. 
The  King  fable  is  a  joke  on  the  other  side,  but  New  York 
swallowed  it  clear  up  to  the  sinker,  and  Aubrey  gaffed  the 
Palace  Garden  management  for  a  three  years'  contract. 
Of  course,  my  advertised  salary  is  phony,  just  like  the 
rubies  and  the  wrecked  throne  and  that  gilded  band 
wagon  with  the  poodles  and  the  stuffed  supers  on  the  box. 
Aubrey  owns  them  all  except  the  rubies,  which  he  rents. 
I'm  billed  as  the  most  notorious  woman  in  America,  and 
the  shred  of  reputation  I  have  left  wouldn't  make  a  neck- 

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tie  for  a  gnat,  whereas  in  reality  I  love  marshmallows 
and  tea  much  more  than  men.  But  I'm  a  star,  at  the 
head  of  my  own  company,  and  playing  to  sidewalk  prices. 
Do  you  think  it  was  a  good  bargain?" 

Lorelei  had  listened  with  breathless  interest.  Now  she 
burst  out  impulsively: 

"You  poor  dear." 

Miss  Smith  smiled,  but  her  eyes  were  tragic. 

"Sometimes  I  cry  when  I  think  about  it.  I — cry  a 
good  deal,"  said  she.  "I  didn't  realize  until  too  late 
what  it  meant,  but,  you  see,  I  was  tired  of  working,  tired 
of  ambition,  and  I  wanted  to  come  home.  Thank  God 
I  have  no  people!  I  save  all  the  money  I  can,  and  when 
I  get  enough  I'm  going  to  take  Agnes  Smith  out  of  the 
moth-balls,  dust  her  off  tenderly,  and  go  to  raising 
ducks." 

"Ducks?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  say.    That  has  always  been  my  ambition." 

"Why  not  quit  now?" 

"What's  the  use?  I'm  half-way  through  the  swamp; 
the  mud  is  as  deep  behind  as  it  is  in  front.  But  I'm 
deathly  afraid  all  the  time  that  I'll  be  found  out — I'd 
— rather  be  notorious  than  ridiculous.  Of  course,  Aubrey 
sees  to  that." 

"Are  you  fond  of  him?" 

Adoree  turned  up  her  nose.  "He's  a  little  pink  rabbit. 
I  don't  like  any  man,  and  I  never  have.  There's  only 
one  I'd  really  care  to  meet;  his  name  is  Campbell  Pope." 

4 '  The  critic.    He  -is  nice. ' ' 

"The  beast.  Did  you  read  what  he  said  about  me? 
I'll  never  rest  until  I  have  a  lock  of  his  hair  that  I've 
plucked  myself.  I'd  love  to  have  his  whole  scalp — with 
say,  one  ear  attached — hanging  on  my  bureau  where  I 
could  see  it  every  morning  when  I  wake  up.  Somehow 
I  don't  seem  to  mind  the  press  stuff  that  Aubrey  puts  out, 
but  Pope — actually  believes  what  he  wrote.  And  other 

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people  will  believe  it,  too.  I — I — Gosh!  I'm  going  to 
cry  again." 

Lorelei  nodded  in  perfect  sympathy;  she  did  not  laugh. 
"I  haven't  any  girl  chum;  let's  be  friends,"  said  she. 

Adoree  had  been  nibbling  at  marshmallows  as  she 
talked;  as  she  wiped  her  eyes  now  she  left  a  smear  of  pow 
dered  sugar  on  her  cheek. 

"I'd  love  to — I'm  simply  bursting  to  confide  in  some 
body — but  we  couldn't  go  around  together." 

"Why?    I  don't  care  what  people  think." 

"You  can't  afford  to  be  reckless.  We're  each  playing 
our  own  game  and  chasing  the  dollar  in  our  own  way.  The 
men  you  met  would  make  life  unbearable  for  you  if  they 
knew  we  were  pals.  Aubrey  was  right :  a  girl  must  either 
be  mighty  good  or  mighty  bad  in  this  business — or  make 
people  think  she  is,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 
You  have  had  easy  going  because  you're  known  to  be 
straight;  but  if  you  ever  get  into  the  papers  watch  what 
will  happen.  You'll  have  to  fight.  You  wouldn't  like  that 
kind  of  fighting,  either,  and — I'm  not  sure  you  could 
stand  it." 

As  Lorelei  walked  homeward  that  afternoon  she  felt  an 
unaccustomed  warmth  in  her  breast,  and  realized  that 
she,  too,  had  been  very  lonely  in  the  city.  The  certainty 
that  she  had  made  a  friend  gladdened  her  heart.  She 
looked  forward  with  a  thrill  to  the  morrow  when  she 
could  see  Adoree  again. 

During  her  absence  Jim  had  returned  and  departed; 
but  a  note  was  waiting  for  her.  It  had  been  brought  by 
a  messenger,  and  read: 

"Things  look  bad.  I'm  afraid  we'll  be  implicated,  too. 
Better  see  your  brother  quickly.  M." 


E  a  strange  brother,"  she  said.     "I  hardly  knoi 
instinct  in  you,  Jim?" 


what  to  make  of   you.     Has   the  city  killed   every  decent 


CHAPTER  IX 

T  ORELEI  was  not  a  little  mystified  by  Merkle's 
1-rf  cryptic  message,  for  she  could  imagine  no  possible 
way  in  which  she  or  the  writer  himself  could  be  connected 
discreditably  with  Jarvis  Hammon's  affair.  She  gained 
some  light,  however,  when  that  evening  she  read  the  note 
to  Lilas. 

"Why,  they're  going  to  blackmail  Merkle,  too,"  Lilas 
exclaimed.  "Well,  they'd  be  foolish  to  let  him  off, 
wouldn't  they?  Two  millionaires  out  with  two  show 
girls!  Hilarious  foursome  at  the  Chateau!  Automobile 
wreck!  Foxy  Pinkertons  and  flash-light  photographs! 
Nice  story." 

"So  they  think  he'll  pay  to  keep  his  name  out  of  the 
papers?" 

"Exactly.    And  he  will — for  your  sake." 

"I  won't  let  him." 

Lilas  was  surprised.  "Why?  He's  rich.  He  wouldn't 
miss  a  few  thousand." 

"You  wouldn't  allow  Mr.  Hammon  to  be  robbed,  would 
you?" 

"Oh,  wouldn't  I?  If  he  didn't  care  enough  for  me  to 
protect  me  from  scandal  I'd  want  to  know  it." 

"Lilas,  you  puzzle  me,"  confessed  Lorelei,  doubtfully. 
"You  say  things  that  make  me  think  you  don't  care  for 
him  at  all;  then  again  you  seem  to  be  crazy  about  him. 
How  do  you  feel?  How  far  would  you  go  with  him?" 

Lilas  laughed  airily.  "Perhaps  I'd  go  farther  with 
him  than  for  him.  He  asked  me  to  marry  him  if  his  wife 

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gets  a  divorce;  and  I  agreed.  Does  that  answer  your 
question?" 

"  I — suppose  it  does." 

"Now  that  he  has  come  to  the  point,  I'm  not  sorry 
things  happened  just  as  they  did.  A  woman  must  look 
out  for  herself — no  man  will  ever  help  her.  It's  worth 
some  notoriety  to  become  Mrs.  Jarvis  Hammon." 

Something  in  the  speaker's  words  rang  false;  but  just 
what  that  something  was,  Lorelei  could  not  decide. 

"Then  you'd  like  to  see  the  story  made  public?"  she 
queried. 

"Naturally." 

"  I  dare  say  if  I  loved  a  man  I'd  want  him  at  any  price, 
but  I — hope  I'm  not  going  to  be  dragged  into  this  matter." 

"My  dear,  New  York  has  blackmailing  newspapers, 
just  as  it  has  blackmailing  men.  They  live  off  people  like 
Merkle.  You'd  be  foolish  to  let  him  escape  from  this 
just  to  save  a  few  dollars,  for  the  notoriety  will  injure 
you,  where  it  benefits  me.  It's  not  often  that  girls  in  our 
business  know  men  like  those  two.  You  have  a  family; 
they  can  make  Merkle  do  the  right  thing  by  you." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  do  anything,"  protested  Lorelei. 
"There's  nothing  to  do." 

"You  could  make  him  marry  you." 

Lorelei  winced.  "Nonsense!  I  don't  care  for  him. 
He's  an  old  man.  There's  no  reason  why  he  should." 

"He  could  be  made  to  pay,  at  least,  and  you'll  be  sorry 
if  you  don't  get  something  out  of  him.  Just  wait  and  see 
what  a  difference  the  story  makes  with  your  other  men 
friends." 

During  the  ensuing  performance  Lorelei  pondered  her 
friend's  disquieting  prophecy;  yet  she  could  see  no  reason 
for  grave  apprehension.  Publicity  of  the  kind  threatened 
would,  of  course,  be  disagreeable;  but  how  it  could  seri 
ously  affect  her  was  not  apparent. 

Later  in  the  evening  Robert  Wharton  appeared,  as 

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usual,  and  so  resentful  was  he  at  the  deceptions  previously 
practised  upon  him  that  Lorelei  with  difficulty  escaped  a 
scene.  He  declared  positively  that  he  was  not  to  be  dis 
couraged;  that  he  proposed  to  have  his  attentions  ac 
cepted  at  any  cost,  even  if  it  became  necessary  to  use 
force.  He  seemed  sufficiently  drunk  to  execute  his  threat, 
and  his  invitation  to  supper  was  couched  this  time  more 
in  the  terms  of  a  command.  At  last  he  borrowed  a  stool 
from  the  Judge,  who  by  now  was  his  willing  vassal,  and 
planted  himself  in  the  hallway,  where  he  remained 
throughout  the  performance — a  gloomy,  watchful  figure. 
Lorelei  came  down  boldly,  dressed  for  the  street,  and, 
since  she  could  not  pass  the  besieger,  excused  herself 
briefly.  Descending  the  basement  stairs,  she  crossed  under 
the  stage,  made  her  way  into  the  orchestra-pit,  and  man 
aged  to  leave  the  theater  by  the  front  door. 

She  was  waiting  when  Jim  came  home,  and  followed  him 
into  his  room,  where  they  could  talk  without  disturbing 
their  father.  Lorelei  made  her  accusation  boldly,  prepared 
for  the  usual  burst  of  anger,  but  Jim  listened  patiently 
until  she  paused. 

"I  knew  you  had  to  spill  this,  so  I  let  you  rave,"  said 
he.  "But  it's  too  late ;  somebody  has  been  after  Hammon 
for  a  long  time,  and  he's  been  got — yes,  and  got  good. 
Take  a  flash  at  The  Chorus-girl's  Bible."  He  tossed  his 
sister  a  copy  of  a  prominent  theatrical  paper.  "I  waited 
until  it  came  out." 

Lorelei  gasped,  for  on  the  front  page  glared  black-typed 
head-lines  of  the  Hammon  scandal.  John  Merkle's  name 
was  there,  too  and  linked  with  it,  her  own. 

"Jim!"  she  cried  aghast.  "They  promised  to  kill  the 
story." 

"  Humph !    Charley  Murphy  himself  couldn't  kill  that." 

"What  is — this?"  She  ran  her  eye  swiftly  down  the 
column. 

"  Sure.  Melcher  commenced  suit  against  Hammon  this 

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afternoon.  Fifty  thousand  dollars  for  alienation  of  Lilas's 
affections.  Joke,  eh?  He  claims  there  was  a  common- 
law  marriage  and  he'll  get  the  coin." 

"But  Mrs.  Hammon?" 

"The  evidence  is  in  her  hands  already — dates,  places, 
photographs,  everything.  She'll  win  her  suit,  too." 

"Why,  it  sounds  like  a — a  deliberate  plot.  But  I  don't 
understand  who's  behind  it.  What  part  did  you  have  in 
it,  Jim?  Were  you  helping  Mr.  Melcher  in  his  blackmail 
scheme,  or — "  Another  possibility  came  to  her —  "Were 
you  by  any  chance  working  for  Mrs.  Hammon?" 

Divining  his  sister's  prejudice,  Jim  lied  promptly  and 
convincingly.  "Why,  Mrs.  Hammon,  of  course.  I  had  a 
chance  to  turn  a  few  dollars,  and  I  took  it." 

"But  why  did  they  drag  me  in?  Couldn't  you  keep  me 
out  of  it?  This  is  dreadful."  As  she  ran  her  eye  over  the 
article  she  saw  that  it  was  quite  in  harmony  with  the 
general  tone  and  policy  of  the  paper  which  catered  to  the 
jaded  throngs  of  the  Tenderloin.  Truth  had  been  cun 
ningly  distorted;  flippancy,  sensationalism,  and  a  salacious 
double  meaning  ran  through  it  all. 

"What's  dreadful  about  it?"  inquired  her  brother. 
"That  sort  of  advertising  does  a  show-girl  good.  You've 
got  to  make  people  talk  about  you,  Sis,  and  this  '11  bring 
a  gang  of  high-rollers  your  way.  You've  been  so  blamed 
proper  that  nobody's  interested  in  you  any  more." 

For  a  moment  Lorelei  scrutinized  her  brother  in  silence, 
taken  aback  at  his  outrageous  philosophy.  Jim  had 
changed  greatly,  she  mused;  not  until  very  lately  had  she 
observed  the  full  measure  of  the  change  in  him.  He  was 
no  longer  the  country  boy,  the  playmate  and  confidant  of 
her  youth,  but  a  man,  sophisticated,  hard,  secretive.  He 
had  been  thoroughly  Manhattanized,  she  perceived,  and 
he  was  as  foreign  to  her  as  a  stranger.  She  shook  her  head 
hopelessly. 

"You're  a  strange  brother,"  she  said.  "I  hardly  know 

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what  to  make  of  you.     Has  the  city  killed  every  decent 
instinct  in  you,  Jim?" 

"Now  don't  begin  on  the  Old  Home  stuff,"  he  replied, 
testily.  "I  haven't  changed  any  more  than  you  have. 
Why,  ma  used  to  think  you'd  play  dead  or  jump  through 
whenever  she  snapped  her  finger,  but — you're  getting 
tough-bitted.  You're  getting  sanctimonious  in  your  old 
age.  Where  you  got  it  from  I  don't  know — not  from  ma, 
surely,  nor  from  dad;  he's  a  cheater  and  always  has 
been." 

"Jim!" 

"Oh,  you  know  it.  I'm  wondering — how  long  you'll 
stand  pat." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Do  you  really  intend  to  marry  a  bunch  of  coin?" 

"  That's  the  program,  isn't  it  ?  I've  been  raised  for  that, 
and  nothing  else." 

"Well,  ma  can't  put  it  over,  so  I  guess  it's  up  to  me. 
Just  leave  things  to  Brother  Jim,  and  don't  worry  over 
what  happens.  Nobody  along  Broadway  pays  any  atten 
tion  to  this  rot."  He  indicated  the  newspaper  with  a 
wave  of  his  cigar.  After  a  moment  he  added,  "Would 
you  accept  Merkle?" 

Lorelei  shivered.    "Oh — no!    Not  Mr.  Merkle." 

"Why  not?    He's  all  right,  and  he  won't  last  long." 

"The  idea  is —  Ugh!  He  wouldn't  ask  me,  and  I 
sha'n't  allow  you  to  use  this  scandal  to — urge  him.  The 
proposition  sounds  all  right  in  the  abstract — marriage, 
money,  comfort,  everything  I  want — but  when  it  comes 
right  down  to  the  point — I — always  balk." 

" Humph!  You  ought  to  consider  the  rest  of  us  a  little 
bit.  Pa  could  be  cured,  ma'd  be  happy.  I  could  get  on 
my  feet.  How  about  Bob  Wharton?" 

"He's  a  drunkard." 

"  Good  Lord,  you  don't  expect  to  grab  a  divinity  student, 
do  you?  That  kind  never  has  anything." 

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"  Let's  not  talk  about  it,  please.  Mr.  Wharton  is  getting 
nasty,  and — I'm  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  him." 

"I'll  bet  you  could  land  him — " 

"Please.  I — don't  want  to  think  about  it.  I  dare  say  I'll 
bring  myself  to  marry  some  rich  man  some  day;  but — 
Merkle — Wharton — "  She  shuddered  for  a  second  time. 
"If  Mr.  Wharton  is  serious  this  scandal  will  scare  him 
off,  or  else  he'll  become — just  like  the  others.  I  could  cry. 
He  threatened  me  to-night;  I  don't  know  how  I'll  manage 
to  avoid  him  to-morrow  night." 

"Hm-m!  He's  coming  that  strong,  eh?"  was  Jim's 
interested  query;  but  on  hearing  his  sister's  account  of 
the  young  millionaire's  determined  pursuit  he  volunteered 
in  his  offhand  way  to  assist  her. 

"I'll  come  for  you  myself,  and  we'll  whip  over  to  a 
caf£  for  supper." 

"You'll  save  me  from  him,"  said  Lorelei,  with  a  wan 
smile,  "and  I'll  know  that  you  are  in  good  company  for 
one  evening  at  least." 

"Don't  lose  any  sleep  over  my  habits,"  he  told  her, 
lightly;  "and  don't  worry  yourself  about  this  newspaper 
story,  either.  Melcher  is  in  the  right,  for  Hammon  cut 
him  out  with  Lilas.  He's  after  Merkle,  too;  so  you'll 
have  to  stand  the  gaff  this  time.  I'll  look  up  this  chap 
Wharton  to-morrow  and  find  out  what  sort  of  a  farmer's 
son  he  really  is." 

As  Jim  and  his  mother  breakfasted  together  on  the 
following  morning  he  broached  the  subject  of  his  recent 
conversation  with  Lorelei. 

"She's  sore  about  the  story,"  he  said.  "We  had  a  long 
talk  last  night." 

"I  knew  she  would  be,  and  I'm  not  sure  it  was  a  good 
thing." 

"We'll  drag  something  out  of  it  if  you  do  your  part. 
Merkle  will  pay.  Don't  mention  money — nothing  but 
marriage — understand?  Outraged  motherhood,  ruined 

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daughter,  blasted  career — that's  yours.  I'll  be  the  brother 
who's  in  the  position  of  a  father  to  her.  I  can  threaten, 
but  you  mustn't.  Goldberg  will  close  for  us." 

' '  I  don't  see  why  we  have  to  divide  with  a  lawyer,  when 
it's  our  affair  and  we  can  handle  it  ourselves,"  his  mother 
complained. 

"  I  tell  you  it's  got  to  go  through  the  regular  channels. 
This  was  Melcher's  idea,  and,  since  I'm  in  on  the  Hammon 
money,  Max  is  entitled  to  his  bit  of  this.  Gee!  If  she'd 
only  told  us  she  was  going  out  with  Merkle  we  might 
have  framed  something  worth  while — I  don't  mind  tell 
ing  you  this  is  a  pretty  weak  case." 

"He  won't  stand  publicity;  they  never  do,"  averred 
Mrs.  Knight. 

"Oh,  he's  not  like  Hammon;  he  hasn't  got  a  family — 
and  Lorelei  won't  back  us  up,  either.  We've  got  to  bluff 
it  through." 

"Wouldn't  he  marry  her?" 

"Not  a  chance.  In  the  first  place,  she  wouldn't  have 
him.  Bob  Wharton  is  the  white  hope." 

"She  hates  him,  too.  Goodness  knows  what  we're 
going  to  do  with  her." 

" I  think  she'll  stand  for  Wharton  if  we  work  her  right; 
it's  him  or  nobody.  She's  getting  harder  to  handle  every 
day,  though,  and  one  of  these  times  she'll  fall  for  some 
rummy.  If  she  ever  does  lose  her  head  she'll  skid  for  the 
ditch,  and  we  can  kiss  ourselves  good-by.  She'll  be  as 
easy  to  steer  as  a  wild  boar  by  the  tail.  I  guess  you're 
sorry  now  that  you  didn't  listen  to  me  and  let  Max  handle 
her  before  she  got  wise." 

"I  wouldn't  feel  safe  with  any  of  that  crowd.  I'd  be 
terribly  afraid."  Mrs.  Knight  shook  her  head  dubiously. 

"Say!    She's  got  you  doing  it,  too.    Why,  they  don't 

take  a  chance.     Goldberg  handles  the  legal  end,  and  his 

brother  is  in  the  legislature.    But  that's  not  all:  Melcher's 

partner  in  his  gambling-house  is  Inspector  Snell.     You 

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can't  beat  that.  I  could  have  Merkle  killed  for  five 
hundred  bucks  and  never  stand  a  pinch.  I'd  merely  tip 
one  of  Maxey's  gunmen,  and  some  night  Old  Dyspepsia 
Dick  would  wake  up  with  a  harp  in  his  hand.  They  'd  get 
him  coming  out  of  his  bank  or  going  to  his  club  or  leaving 
the  theater;  and  nobody  would  dream  who  did  it,  for  there 
wouldn't  be  a  motive.  It's  done  every  day,  ma.  Even  if 
they  grabbed  one  of  the  boys,  Melcher  would  spring  him 
from  the  Tombs.  'Alibi '  is  Maxey's  middle  name,  and  he 
makes  bondsmen.  How  do  you  suppose  politics  are  run 
in  this  town,  anyhow?" 

''That  isn't  politics;  that's  murder."  Mrs.  Knight 
was  deeply  shocked.  "This  is  a  terrible  city,  Jim." 

"Sure;  but  Max  is  in  politics  for  the  protection  it  gives 
him  in  his  other  lines  of  business.  His  gambling-house 
is  as  safe  as  a  church.  There's  big  money  in  this  banker- 
hunting,  too.  Did  you  read  about  the  two  old  guys  at 
the  King  William  Hotel  last  month?  Well,  Max  laid  'em 
against  two  squabs,  friends  of  Tony's.  He  got  the  girls 
into  the  hotel,  paid  their  bills,  and  all  that.  They've 
cleaned  up  about  twenty  thousand  so  far.  Of  course, 
Lorelei  won't  stand  for  anything  like  that,  so  we've  got 
to  marry  her,  I  suppose." 

"Just  the  same,  I'm  frightened — and  this  isn't  honest. 
I  wish  she  would  listen  to  Robert  Wharton." 

James  winked  meaningly.  "Leave  that  to  me.  She's 
going  to  Proctor's  with  me  to-night.  Maybe  he'll  join  us. 
But  meanwhile  we've  got  Merkle  for  some  quick  money 
if  we  work  him  right.  I'm  off  for  Goldy's  office  now.  I'll 
meet  you  at  three." 

When  Jim  reappeared,  dressed  for  the  street,  he  gave  a 
bit  of  parting  advice: 

"Better  lay  on  the  hysterics  when  she  wakes  up.  It  '11 
make  it  easier  for  me  to-night." 

Lorelei  found  her  mother  visibly  upset  by  the  story  in 
the  morning's  newspaper. 

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"You  told  me  you  only  went  to  supper  with  that  man," 
Mrs.  Knight  cried,  tragically.  "Instead  of  that  you  two 
were  off  in  the  country  together  all  night.  Here's  the 
whole  thing."  She  brandished  the  paper  dramatically. 

"Well,  I  told  you  a  fib.    But  there's  no  harm  done." 

"Harm,  indeed?  You're  ruined.  I  never  read  any 
thing  more  disgraceful;  I  daren't  show  it  to  Peter — it 
would  kill  him.  What  ever  possessed  you,  after  the  way 
we've  watched  over  you,  after  the  care  we've  taken  of 
you?  It's  terrible." 

"Please  don't  carry  on  so.  It  was  too  bad,  of  course, 
but — I'll  live  through  it." 

The  shock  of  this  callous  assertion  seemed  to  rob  Mrs. 
Knight  of  speech;  she  stared  at  her  daughter  in  grief  and 
amazement. 

" Mr.  Merkle  is  a  gentleman,"  Lorelei  defended.  "He'll 
regret  this  publicity  as  much  as  I." 

"The  wretch!  I'll  teach  him  to  spoil  an  innocent  girl's 
career  and  drag  her  name  in  the  mud."  Mrs.  Knight 
glared  balefully. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  her  daughter, 
sharply. 

"He — ought  to  marry  you." 

"Why,  mother!  You're  more  insulting  than  that  news 
paper.  The  career  of  a  show-girl  is  something  of  a  joke." 
Lorelei  undertook  to  laugh,  but  the  attempt  failed  rather 
dismally. 

"Indeed.  What  will  the  other  men  say?  You  had  a 
character;  nobody  could  say  a  word  against  you  until 
now.  Do  you  think  any  decent  man  would  marry  a  girl 
who  did  a  thing  like  this?  Of  course,  I  know  you're  a  good 
girl,  but  they  don't,  and  they'll  believe  absolutely  the  worst. 
You've  spoiled  everything,  my  dear;  I'm  completely  dis 
couraged."  Mrs.  Knight  began  to  weep  in  a  weak,  heart 
broken  manner,  expecting  Lorelei  to  melt,  as  usual;  but, 
seeing  something  in  her  daughter's  expression  that  warned 


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her  not  to  carry  her  reproaches  too  far,  she  broke  out: 
"You're  so  hard,  so  unreasonable.  Don't  you  see  I'm 
frantic  with  worry?  You're  all  we  have,  and — and  the 
thought  of  an  injury  to  your  prospects  nearly  kills  me. 
You  misunderstand  everything  I  say.  I — wish  you  were 
safely  married  and  out  of  danger.  I  think  I  could  die 
happy  then.  It  means  so  much  to  all  of  us  to  have  you 
settled  right  away.  Peter  is  failing  every  day;  Jim  is 
going  to  the  dogs,  and — I'm  sick  over  it  all." 

"  I  wish  I  were  married  and  out  of  the  way.  You  would 
all  be  fixed,  at  least.  I — don't  much  care  about  myself." 
Lorelei  sighed  in  hopeless  weariness  of  spirit,  for  variations 
of  this  scene  had  been  common  of  late,  and  they  always 
filled  her  with  the  blackest  pessimism. 

"Maybe  Mr.  Merkle— " 

"We'll  leave  him  out  of  this,"  declared  Lorelei;  "he's 
too  decent  to  have  a  person  like  me  foisted  upon  him — 
and  there's  no  reason  whatever  why  he  should  be  held 
responsible  for  my  notoriety."  She  turned  away  from  the 
dining-room  with  a  shudder  of  distaste.  "I  don't  want 
any  breakfast.  I  think  I'll  get  some  air." 

As  soon  as  she  was  out  in  the  street  she  turned  south 
ward  involuntarily,  and  set  off  toward  the  establishment 
of  Adoree  Demorest. 

Mrs.  Knight  dried  her  eyes  and  began  to  dress  herself 
carefully,  preparatory  to  a  journey  into  the  Wall  Street 
section  of  the  city,  for  the  hour  was  drawing  on  toward 
three  o'clock. 

Meanwhile  Jim,  having  transacted  his  business  at  Gold 
berg's  office,  sought  a  more  familiar  haunt  on  one  of  the 
side-streets  among  the  forties.  Here,  just  off  Broadway, 
was  a  famous  barber-shop — a  spotless  place  with  white 
interior  and  tiled  walls.  Six  Italians  in  stiff  duck  coats 
practised  their  arts  at  a  row  of  well-equipped  chairs.  A 
wasp-waisted  girl  sat  at  the  manicure-table  next  the  front 
windows.  As  Jim  entered  she  was  holding  the  hand  of 

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a  jaded  person  in  a  light-gray  suit,  and  murmuring  over 
it  with  an  occasional  upward  glance  from  a  pair  of  bold 
dark  eyes. 

"Tony  the  Barber's"  place  was  thoroughly  antiseptic. 
Dirt  was  a  stranger  there;  germs  found  life  within  its 
portals  a  hazardous  business — what  with  the  vitrified 
walls,  the  glass  shelves,  and  enameled  plumbing.  Even 
the  towels  were  handled  with  tongs;  the  nickel-plated 
steamer  in  which  they  were  heated  to  an  unbearable  tem 
perature  seemed  to  puff  its  cheeks  with  a  consciousness 
of  painful  and  almost  offensive  cleanliness.  The  men 
who  worked  here  had  hard,  black  eyes,  but  their  hands 
were  soft  and  white.  The  rows  of  mugs  that  stood  inside 
the  glass  cupboards  were  inscribed  with  the  names  of 
prominent  actors,  managers,  and  booking-agents  of  the 
Rialto — for  this  was  a  famous  place  in  its  way. 

Tony,  engaged  in  administering  a  shampoo,  nodded  at 
Jim,  and  from  force  of  habit  murmured  politely: 

"Next!"  Then,  with  a  meaning  glance,  he  indicated 
a  door  at  the  rear  of  the  shop.  In  the  third  chair  Jim 
recognized  Max  Melcher,  although  the  face  of  the  sporting- 
man  was  swathed  in  steaming  cloths. 

Jim  passed  on  and  into  a  rear  room,  where  he  found 
three  men  seated  at  a  felt-covered  card-table.  They  were 
well  dressed,  quiet  persons — one  a  bookmaker  whom  the 
racing  laws  had  reduced  from  affluence  to  comparative 
penury;  another,  a  tall,  pallid  youth  with  bulging  eyes. 
The  third  occupant  of  the  room  was  an  ex-lightweight  cham 
pion  of  the  ring,  Young  Sullivan,  by  name.  His  trim  waist 
and  powerful  shoulders  betokened  his  trade.  His  jaw  was 
firm,  and  a  cauliflower  ear  overhung  his  collar  like  a  fungus. 

Jim  drew  up  a  chair  and  chatted  idly  until  the  book 
maker  yawned,  rose,  and  went  out.  Then  Jim  and  the 
others  relaxed. 

"Gee,  he's  a  sticker!"  exclaimed  the  pugilist.  "I 
thought  he'd  broke  his  back." 


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"Max  is  getting  his  map  greased,"  the  pop-eyed  youth 
explained.  Taking  a  pasteboard  box  from  his  pocket,  he 
removed  a  heroin  tablet  therefrom  and  crushed  it;  the 
powder  he  held  in  the  indentation  between  the  base  of  his 
closed  thumb  and  first  finger,  known  as  "the  thimble"; 
then,  with  a  quick  inhalation,  he  drew  the  drug  up  his 
nostrils.  "Have  an  angel?"  he  inquired,  offering  the  box. 

Jim  accepted,  but  Young  Sullivan  declined. 

"What's  the  news?"  the  latter  inquired. 

"I've  seen  Goldy,"  replied  Jim.  "Mother  and  I  will 
call  on  Merkle  at  three.  I  finally  got  her  to  consent." 

Sullivan  shook  his  head.  "He  might  fall,  but  I  doubt 
it.  How  does  your  sister  feel  ?" 

"That's  the  trouble.  She's  square,  and  we  can't  use 
her,"  Jim  explained. 

"Some  doll!"  admiringly  commented  Armistead,  the 
third  member  of  the  group.  Armistead  had  once  been 
famed  in  vaudeville  for  dancing,  but  the  drug  habit  had 
destroyed  his  endurance,  and  with  it  his  career.  "She's 
a  perfect  thirty-six,  all  right.  She  could  rip  a  lot  of  coin 
loose  if  she  tried." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Melcher,  freshly  perfumed  and 
talcumed,  entered  the  room.  His  white  hair  was  ar 
ranged  with  scrupulous  nicety;  his  pink  face,  as  un- 
wrinkled  as  his  immaculate  attire,  was  beaming  with  good 
humor. 

"Well,  boys,  I'm  the  pay-car,"  he  smiled. 

"Hammon  came  through,  eh?"  Sullivan  inquired, 
eagerly. 

"Not  exactly;  we  compromised.  Quick  sales  and  small 
profits;  that's  business." 

"How  strong  did  he  go?"  queried  Armistead. 

"Now,  what's  the  difference,  so  long  as  you  get  yours? 
Photography  is  a  paying  business."  Melcher  laughed 
agreeably. 

"Sure!  I'll  bet  Sarony  is  rich."  Young  Sullivan  care- 

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lessly  accepted  the  roll  of  currency  which  Melcher  tossed 
him,  and  the  others  did  likewise. 

"I  suppose  that's  curtain  for  us,"  Jim  said,  regretfully. 

"It  is.    The  rest  is  Lilas's  affair." 

"Say,  will  the  old  man  fall  again  ?"  queried  Armistead. 

"He's  going  to  marry  her!"  The  three  others  stared 
at  him  in  amazement.  "Right!"  confirmed  Melcher. 
"She's  got  a  strangle  hold  on  him." 

"Hm-m!  Maybe  we  haven't  lost  the  last  car  yet," 
Sullivan  ventured. 

Jim  seconded  the  thought.  "She's  got  an  ace  buried 
somewhere.  There's  a  lot  more  in  her  head  than  hair-pins. 
I  wish  Merkle  would  marry  my  sister." 

"Not  a  chance,"  Melcher  declared.  "You'll  be  lucky 
to  shake  him  down  for  a  few  thousand.  How  about 
Wharton?  Will  she  stand  for  him?" 

Jim  frowned,  and  his  voice  was  rough  as  he  replied: 

"I'll  make  her  stand  for  him — if  it's  a  marry." 

"He's  a  lush;  if  you  got  him  stewed  he  might  go  that 
far.  It  has  been  done;  but,  of  course,  it's  all  up  to  the 
girl.  Anyhow,  if  he  balks  at  the  altar  we  might  get  him 
for  something  else." 

"  I'm  not  sure  I'll  need  any  help  in  this."  Jim  looked  up 
coldly.  "If  he  marries  her,  that  ends  it;  if  we  have  to 
frame  him,  of  course  I'll  split." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  frame  him,  with  a  square  dame 
like  Lorelei?"  asked  Armistead. 

"Frame  both  of  them,"  Melcher  said,  shortly.  "By 
the  way,  he's  a  gambler,  too,  isn't  he?  Bring  him  in 
some  night,  Jim,  and  I'll  turn  for  him  myself." 

"  Save  his  cuff-buttons  for  me,"  laughed  Young  Sullivan, 
idly  riffling  the  cards.  "Gee!  Money  comes  easy  to 
some  folks.  Don't  you  guys  never  expect  to  do  any  honest 
work?" 


CHAPTER  X 

JIM'S  appearance  when  he  entered  the  dressing-room 
that  night  was  a  surprise;  he  was  clad  in  faultless 
evening  attire. 

' '  Why  the  barbaric  splendor  ? ' '  inquired  Lorelei .  "  Don 't 
you  know  I'm  only  your  sister?" 

"  I've  got  these  Moe  Levys,  so  I  might  as  well  wear  'em. 
I'm  tired  of  running  a  moth-garage,"  he  replied,  laying 
aside  his  stick,  gloves,  and  hat  with  a  care  that  betrayed 
his  unfamiliarity  with  them.  "What  have  you  got  to  go 
with  this  scenery?" 

"Do  you  want  me  to  dress,  too?" 

"Sure  thing.  Look  your  best,  and  make  me  think  I'm 
a  regular  John." 

"Bergman  dropped  in  to  see  me  to-night,"  she  told 
him,  after  they  had  gossiped  for  a  moment.  "He  referred 
to  that  story  in  this  morning's  Despatch." 

"Yes?" 

"I  don't  like  the  way  he  talked." 

"Fresh?"- 

"He's  always  that,  but  this  time  he  was  something 
more.  He  thinks  he  owns  the  girls  who  work  for  him." 

Jim  replied,  carelessly:  "Blow  him  and  his  job.  You 
can  get  on  at  the  Palace  Garden." 

"There's  my  contract:  he  can  discharge  me,  you  know, 
but  I  can't  quit — that's  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  a  theatri 
cal  contract.  Well — he  insisted  on  taking  me  to  supper." 

"A  brother  is  a  handy  thing,  once  in  a  while,  but  for 
every-day  use,  you  need  a '  steady '  with  a  kick  in  each  mit." 

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"I  wish  you  would  punch  him." 

"Who?  Me?  And  go  joy-riding  with  a  square-toe? 
Nix.  I'm  too  refined.  Did  you  see  to-night's  papers?" 

"There  wasn't  much  in  them." 

Jim  smiled  wisely.  "There  would  have  been  if  things 
hadn't  gone  right.  I'm  glad  for  your  sake." 

"Oh,  the  harm's  done,  I  suppose.  But  there's  one  good 
thing  about  it — Bob  Wharton  hasn't  bothered  me  this 
evening." 

Jim,  with  an  expressionless  face,  turned  to  speak  to 
Lilas  Lynn,  who  had  just  come  in.  When  his  sister  came 
down  after  the  last  act,  he  was  waiting  at  the  door  and 
helped  her  into  a  cab,  despite  her  protestations  that  she 
would  much  prefer  to  walk. 

' '  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  all  the  coin  you  save  ? 
Slip  it  to  the  shoemakers?"  he  laughed.  "I  don't  go  out 
often;  you'd  better  spring  me  good." 

As  they  seated  themselves  in  the  main  room  at  Proc 
tor's  he  appraised  her  with  admiring  eyes.  "You're  the 
candy,  Sis.  There's  class  to  that  lay-out." 

"It's  part  of  the  game  to  look  well  in  public,  but  I'd 
have  enjoyed  myself  more  if  we  had  gone  to  Billy  the 
Oysterman's  and  dressed  the  part."  She  surveyed  the 
gaudy  dining-room  with  its  towering  marble  columns,  its 
tremendous  crystal  festoons  showering  a  brilliant  but  be 
coming  light  upon  the  throngs  below,  then  nodded  here 
and  there  to  casual  greetings.  * 

Proctor's  was  a  show-place,  built  upon  the  site  of  a 
former  resort  the  fame  of  which  had  been  nation-wide; 
but  the  crowds  that  frequented  it  now  were  of  a  different 
type  to  those  that  had  gathered  in  "the  old  Proctor's." 
Nowadays  the  customers  were  largely  visitors  to  the 
city  in  whom  the  spirit  of  Bohemianism  was  entirely 
lacking.  The  new  resort  was  too  splendid  for  the  old-time 
atmosphere.  Magnificent  panels  done  by  a  gifted  artist 
were  set  into  the  walls  and  distant  ceiling;  an  elaborate 

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marble  stairway  rose  from  the  street-level  to  the  hall  it 
self,  but  instead  of  extending  an  air  of  cheerful  welcome 
it  seemed  to  yawn  hungrily  for  the  occupants  of  the  place, 
rudely  inviting  them  to  descend  when  they  had  sufficiently 
admired  the  costly  furnishings.  A  superb  orchestra  was 
playing,  hordes  of  waiters  hovered  about  the  serving- 
tables  and  sped  noiselessly  along  the  carpeted  spaces  be 
tween  the  dining-tables ;  but,  despite  the  lights  and  the 
music,  it  was  evident  that  the  servitors  outnumbered  the 
guests.  Nominally  high  wages  were  offset  by  the  various 
deceptions  open  to  an  ingenious  management;  prices  were 
higher  here  than  elsewhere;  the  coat-rooms  were  robbers' 
dens  infested  by  Italian  mafiosi;  tips  were  extravagant 
and  amounted  in  effect  to  ransom;  and  each  meal-check 
was  headed  by  an  illegible  scrawl  which  masked  an  item 
termed  "service."  The  figure  opposite  would  have  cov 
ered  the  cost  of  a  repast  at  Childs's.  But  New  York  dearly 
loves  to  be  pillaged;  it  cherishes  a  reputation  for  princely 
carelessness  of  expenditure.  It  follows  that  freedom  from 
extortion  in  places  of  entertainment  argues  a  want  of 
popularity,  than  which  nothing  can  be  more  distressing 
to  contemplate.  Nothing  speeds  the  Manhattan  sleep- 
hater  more  swiftly  to  a  change  of  scene  than  the  knowledge 
that  he  is  getting  his  money's  worth. 

"Speaking  of  clothes,"  Jim  continued,  staring  past  his 
sister  to  another  table,  "there  seems  to  be  a  strike-breaker 
in  the  room.  Pipe  the  gink  with  the  night-shirt  under  his 
coat,  and  the  shoe-string  tie.  There  must  be  a  masquer 
ade —  Say!  He's  bowing  to  you." 

"Hush!  It's  Campbell  Pope,  the  critic." 
Mr.  Pope  had  risen  and  was  slouching  toward  them. 
He  took  Lorelei's  hand,  then  shot  a  sharp  glance  at  her 
escort  as  the  girl  introduced  them.  Accepting  Jim's 
mumbled  invitation,  he  seated  himself  and  instructed  a 
waiter  to  bring  his  coffee.  Jim  continued  to  eye  him  with 
poorly  concealed  amusement,  until  Pope  led  him  into  con- 

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versation,  whereupon  the  youth  began  to  take  in  the  fact 
that  his  guest's  intelligence  and  appearance  were  entirely 
out  of  harmony.  Wisely,  Jim  sheltered  himself  behind 
an  assumption  of  pleasantry  he  was  far  from  feeling.  He 
also  watched  the  nearest  entrance  with  some  anxiety,  for 
the  reviewer's  presence  did  not  fit  well  with  his  plans. 
As  he  finished  ordering  he  heard  Pope  say: 

"I  was  sorry  the  story  got  out;  Miss  Knight;  but  it 
was  pretty  well  smothered  in  this  evening's  papers.  Of 
course,  you  were  dragged  in  by  the  hair  to  afford  a  Roman 
spectacle:  we  all  saw  what  it  meant  when  it  came  to  us." 

"What  did  it  mean?"  queried  Jim,  with  brotherly  in 
terest. 

"Blackmail.  The  word  was  written  all  over  it.  Mel- 
cher's  connection  with  the  affair  was  proof  of  that; 
then — the  way  it  was  handled !  Nobody  touched  it  except 
the  Despatch,  and,  of  course,  it  got  its  price." 

"I  thought  newspapers  paid  for  copy,"  innocently 
commented  Jim. 

"Yes,  real  newspapers;  but  the  gang  had  to  publish  the 
stuff  somewhere.  It  is  reported  that  Hammon  paid  fifty 
thousand  dollars  to  prevent  Melcher  from  filing  suit.  I 
dare  say  things  will  be  quiet  around  Tony  the  Barber's 
now." 

"You  press  people  certainly  have  got  a  lot  up  your 
sleeves."  James's  involuntary  start  of  dismay  did  not  pass 
unnoticed.  He  did  not  relish  the  gleam  in  Pope's  eyes, 
and  he  hastily  sought  refuge  in  a  goblet  of  water,  not 
withstanding  his  distaste  for  the  liquid. 

"We  sometimes  know  as  much  as  the  police,  and  we  in 
variably  tell  more,"  continued  Pope.  "Yes,  a  business 
man  can  get  a  hair-cut  in  Tony's  without  fear  of  family 
complications  now.  I  suppose  Armistead  is  smoking  hop ; 
young  Sullivan  is  probably  laying  an  alcoholic  foundation 
for  a  wife-beating,  and — the  others  are  spending  Hammon's 
money  in  the  caf£s." 

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Jimmy  Knight  paled,  for  behind  Pope's  genial  smile 
were  both  mockery  and  contempt;  a  panic  swept  him 
lest  this  fellow  should  acquaint  Lorelei  with  the  truth. 
Jim  lost  interest  in  his  clams  and  thereafter  avoided 
conversation  with  the  wariness  of  a  fox. 

He  was  still  glowing  with  resentment  when  Robert 
Wharton  paused  at  the  table  and  greeted  its  occupants 
cheerily.  In  response  to  Jim's  invitation  Bob  drew  up 
a  fourth  chair,  seated  himself,  and  began  to  beam  upon 
Lorelei.  Noting  the  faint  line  of  annoyance  between  her 
brows,  he  laughed. 

"Retreat  is  cut  off,"  he  announced,  complacently;  "es 
cape  is  hopeless.  I've  left  orders  to  have  the  windows 
barred  and  the  doors  walled  up." 

"Eh?    What's  the  idea?"  inquired  Pope. 

Wharton  answered  sadly:  "My  vanity  has  suffered 
the  rudest  jolt  of  its  young  career;  I  mourn  the  death  of 
a  perfectly  normal  and  healthy  self-conceit,  age  twenty- 
nine.  Services  at  noon;  friends  and  relatives  only." 

"Oho!  You've  heard  the  seductive  song  of  the  Rhine 
maiden?"  Pope's  eyes  were  twinkling. 

1 '  Eh  ? — I'm  tangled  up  like  a  basket  of  ticker-tape.  You 
see,  Campbell,  I  drink;  candor  compells  me  to  acknowl 
edge  that  much.  In  a  moment  of  folly  I  was  indiscreet,  and 
ever  since  I  have  been  trying  to  apologize.  I  have  borne 
garlands  of  roses,  offers  of  devotion,  plaintive  invitations 
to  dine,  but — the  Circuit  is  a  trick  theater  and  it  has  a 
thousand  doors.  All  I  have  to  show  for  my  efforts  at 
reparation  is  a  bad  cold,  a  worse  temper,  and  a  set  of  false 
teeth  which  the  doorman  pledged  with  me  for  a  loan  of 
ten  dollars.  I  have  Mr.  Regan's  dental  frieze  in  my 
bureau-drawer — but  they  only  grin  at  me  in  derision. 
In  short,  I'm  in  Dutch,  and  there  sits  the  adorable  cause 
of  my  sorrows." 

In  spite  of  Wharton's  reproachful  tone,  the  gaze  he 
bent  upon  Lorelei  was  good-humored,  and  she  saw  that 

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he  was  in  a  mood  different  to  any  she  had  ever  seen  him 
in.  Strange  to  say,  he  was  sober,  or  nearly  so,  and  he  was 
plainly  determined  to  make  her  like  him. 

"Has  he  annoyed  you,  Miss  Knight?"  asked  Pope. 

"Dreadfully." 

Wharton  explained  further.  "The  first  time  we  met  I 
deserved  to  be  slapped,  and  I  was.  You  see,  I  was  ruder 
than  usual.  But  I  have  sobered  up  purposely  to  apologize; 
I  have  repented,  and — well,  here  we  are,  thanks  to  brother 
James." 

"Thanks  to — Jim?"    Lorelei  raised  her  brows. 

Pope  turned  to  young  Knight  and  said,  politely,  "That 
is  my  foot  you  are  stamping  on." 

Ignoring  Jim's  mute  appeal,  Wharton  ran  on  smilingly: 
"He  promised  to  shackle  you  to  a  table  until  I  eould 
stammer  out  my  halting  apologies,  and  now  that  I've 
done  so  in  the  presence  of  press  and  public  won't  you 
forgive  me  and  help  me  to  bury  the  hatchet  in  a  Welsh 
rarebit?"  He  was  speaking  directly  to  her  with  a  genuine 
appeal  in  his  handsome  eyes.  Now  that  she  saw  him  in 
his  right  mind,  it  was  unexpectedly  hard  to  resist  him,  for 
he  was  very  boyish  and  friendly — quite  unlike  the  person 
who  had  so  grievously  offended  her. 

When  she  and  Jim  had  first  entered  the  restaurant  they 
had  received  a  polite  but  casual  recognition  from  the 
head  waiter,  whose  duty  it  was  to  know  all  the  stage 
favorites;  but  there  attentions  had  ceased.  With  Whar 
ton  as  a  member  of  the  party,  however,  there  came  a 
change.  The  head  waiter  himself  hustled  forward  and, 
catching  Lorelei's  eye,  signaled  her  with  an  appreciative 
droop  of  the  lid.  Her  arrangement  with  Proctor's  was  of 
long  standing,  and  her  percentage  was  fixed,  but  this  time 
she  did  not  respond  to  the  sign.  Mr.  Proctor  himself 
paused  momentarily  at  the  table  and  rested  a  hand  upon 
Wharton's  shoulder  while  he  voiced  a  few  platitudes. 
Then  in  some  inexplicable  manner  Robert  found  himself 

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not  only  ordering  for  himself,  but  supplementing  Jim's 
menu  with  rare  and  expensive  viands.  As  a  great  favor, 
he  was  advised  of  a  newly  imported  vintage  wine  which 
the  proprietor  had  secured  for  his  own  use ;  if  Mr.  Wharton 
wished  to  try  it  the  steward  would  appeal  directly  to 
Mr.  Proctor  and  secure  the  keys  as  a  personal  favor. 
Nothing  like  this  wine  had  been  seen  in  New  York  for 
years,  possibly  in  a  lifetime;  it  was  an  opportunity,  and 
Mr.  Proctor  was  eager  to  accommodate  those  who  really 
knew  wines.  A  visiting  prince  had  offered  him  a  fabulous 
price  for  the  remaining  bottles,  but  he  had  refused.  To 
partake  of  this  vintage  was  almost  like  drinking  up  the 
sunshine;  darkness,  complete  and  eternal,  would  follow 
when  this  precious  shipment  was  exhausted. 

Of  course  Mr.  Wharton  wished  to  sample  such  a  vintage, 
any  vintage,  in  fact,  since  a  thousand  fires  were  consuming 
him,  and  his  nerves  were  on  edge  from  the  night  before. 
The  first  draught  electrified  him,  his  spirits  rose  and  he 
swept  his  companions  along  with  his  enthusiasm.  From 
surrounding  tables  people  accosted  him;  men  paused  in 
passing  to  exchange  a  word  about  stocks,  polo,  scandal, 
Newport,  tennis,  Tuxedo;  none  were  in  the  least  stiff  or 
formal,  and  all  expressed  in  one  way  or  another  their 
admiration  for  Lorelei.  Women  whom  she  knew  were  not 
of  her  world  beamed  and  smiled  at  the  young  millionaire. 
It  was  a  new  experience  for  the  girl,  who  felt  herself, 
as  the  supper  progressed,  becoming  conspicuous  without 
the  usual  disagreeable  accompaniments.  Men  no  longer 
openly  ogled  her;  women  did  not  nudge  each  other  and 
whisper;  her  presence  in  company  with  a  member  of  the 
idolized  rich  was  causing  gossip,  but  gossip  of  a  flattering 
kind. 

All  this  attention,  however,  had  quite  the  contrary  effect 
upon  Campbell  Pope.  Much  to  Jim's  relief,  he  excused 
himself  shortly,  whereupon  the  former,  after  allowing 
Wharton  to  pay  the  score,  suggested  a  dance,  breezily 

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sweeping  aside  his  sister's  mild  objection.  Of  course,  Bob 
was  delighted,  and  soon  the  trio  had  set  out  upon  a  round 
of  the  dancing-cafe's. 

At  the  first  place  they  visited  they  had  difficulty  in 
gaining  entrance,  for  a  crowd  was  held  in  check  by  the 
heavy  plush  cord  stretched  across  the  door  to  the  restau 
rant  proper;  but  here  again  Wharton's  name  proved 
potent.  The  barrier  was  lowered,  and  the  party  managed 
to  squeeze  their  way  into  a  badly  ventilated  Turkish  room, 
where  a  demented  darky  orchestra  was  drumming  upon 
various  instruments  ranging  in  resonance  from  a  piano  to 
a  collection  of  kitchen  utensils.  Tables  had  been  crowded 
around  the  walls  and  into  the  balcony  so  closely  that  the 
occupants  rubbed  shoulders,  but  the  center  of  the  lower 
floor  was  occupied  by  a  roped  corral  in  which  a  mass  of 
dancers  were  revolving  like  a  herd  of  milling  cattle.  Dusty, 
tobacco-smoked  oriental  rugs,  banners  and  lanterns,  sus 
pended  from  walls  and  balcony  railings,  lent  a  semblance 
of  "color"  to  the  place;  little  Moorish  alcoves  were  set 
into  the  walls,  in  and  out  of  which  undersized  waiters  dodged 
like  rabbits  in  a  warren.  The  attendants  were  irritable; 
they  perspired  freely,  they  bumped  into  people,  squeezed 
past,  or,  failing  in  that,  crawled  over  the  seated  guests. 

After  a  breathless  half -hour  of  this  the  three  sought  a 
resort  farther  up-town,  where  they  found  the  entire  upper 
floors  of  a  restaurant  building  given  over  to  "trotting." 
During  the  previous  winter  the  craze  for  dancing  had 
swept  New  York  like  a  plague,  and  the  various  Barbary 
Coast  figures  had  reached  their  highest  popularity.  Here, 
too,  the  rooms  were  thronged  and  the  tables  taken,  despite 
the  lateness  of  the  season,  but  for  a  second  time  Wharton 
demonstrated  that  to  a  man  about  town  of  his  accomplish 
ments  no  place  is  really  closed. 

However  loud  the  protest  against  this  latest  fad,  it  is 
doubtful  if  its  effect  is  wholly  harmful,  for  it  at  least 
introduced  vigorous  exercise  and  rhythmic  movement  into 

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the  midnight  life  of  the  city.  Women  went  home  in  the 
gray  dawn  with  faces  flushed  from  natural  causes ;  exqui 
site  youths  of  nocturnal  habits  learned  to  perspire  and  to 
know  the  feeling  of  a  wilted  collar. 

Bob  Wharton  had  drunk  heavily,  but  up  to  this  time 
he  had  shown  little  effect  from  his  potations  beyond  a 
growing  exhilaration;  now,  however,  the  wine  was  taking 
toll,  and  Lorelei  felt  a  certain  pity  for  him.  Waste  is 
shocking;  it  grieved  her  to  see  a  man  so  blessed  with 
opportunity  flinging  himself  away  so  fatuously.  The 
hilarity  which  greeted  him  on  every  hand  spoke  of  misspent 
nights  and  a  reckless  prodigality  that  betokened  long 
habitude.  Only  his  splendid  constitution — that  abounding 
vitality  which  he  had  inherited  from  sturdy,  temperate 
forebears — enabled  him  to  keep  up  the  pace;  but  Lorelei 
saw  that  he  was  already  beginning  to  show  its  effect. 
Judging  from  to-night's  experience,  he  was  still,  in  his 
sober  moments,  a  normal  person;  but  once  he  had  imbibed 
beyond  a  certain  point  his  past  excesses  uncovered  them 
selves  like  grinning  faces.  Alcohol  is  a  capricious  master, 
seldom  setting  the  same  task  twice,  nor  directing  his  slaves 
into  similar  pathways.  He  delights,  moreover,  in  revers 
ing  the  edge  of  a  person's  disposition,  making  good- 
natured  people  pettish  or  morose,  while  he  sometimes 
improves  those  of  naturally  evil  temper.  Often  under 
his  sway  the  somber  and  the  stoical  become  gay  and  im 
pulsive,  while  the  joyful  sink  into  despondency.  But 
with  Robert  Wharton,  liquor  intensified  a  natural  agree- 
ableness  until  it  cloyed.  His  amenities  were  monstrously 
magnified;  he  became  convivial  to  the  point  of  offensive- 
ness.  In  the  course  of  this  metamorphosis  he  was  many 
things,  and  through  such  a  cycle  he  worked  to-night  while 
the  girl  looked  on. 

Overcoming  his  niggardly  instincts,  Jimmy  Knight,  as 
the  evening  progressed,  assumed  the  burden  of  enter 
tainment.  He,  too,  adopted  a  spendthrift  gaiety  and  en- 

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couraged  Wharton's  libations,  although  he  drank  little 
himself. 

There  came  a  time  when  Bob  could  no  longer  dance — 
when,  in  fact,  he  could  barely  walk — and  then  it  was  that 
Jim  proposed  leaving.  Bob  readily  agreed — having 
reached  a  condition  of  mellowness  where  he  agreed  enthu 
siastically  to  anything — and  Lorelei  was  only  too  glad 
to  depart.  She  had  witnessed  the  pitiful  breaking-down 
of  Bob's  faculties  with  a  curious  blending  of  concern  and 
dismay,  but  her  protests  had  gone  unheeded.  Having 
had  a  glimpse  of  his  real  self  earlier  in  the  evening,  and 
being  wise  in  the  ways  of  intemperance,  she  felt  only  pity 
for  him  now  as  the  three  made  their  way  down-stairs. 

While  Jim  went  in  search  of  their  belongings  Bob 
propped  himself  against  the  wall  and  regarded  her  admir 
ingly  through  eyes  that  were  filmed  and  unfocusable. 

' '  Fairy  Princess,  you  are  more  adorable  every  minute, ' '  he 
said,  thickly.  "Yes!  A  thousand  y  esses.  And  I'm  your  little 
friend,  eh  ?  No  more  slaps,  no  more  mysterious  exits,  what  ?" 

"That  depends  upon  you." 

"I'm  behaving  finely,"  he  vaunted.  "I  usually  act 
much  worse  than  I  have  to-night,  but  I  like  you.  I  like 
you  differently — understand?  Not  like  the  other  girls. 
You're  so  beautiful!  Makes  me  dizzy.  You  forgive  my 
little  joke,  eh?" 

"What  joke?" 

"  Meeting  you  the  way  I  did  to-night.  Jim's  nice  boy — 
obliged  to  him." 

"I  see.    Then  it  was  all  planned?" 

He  nodded  vehemently  and  nearly  lost  his  balance. 

"How  much — did  you  pay  him?"  Lorelei  queried,  with 
difficulty. 

Mr.  Wharton  waved  his  hand  in  a  magnificent  gesture. 
"What's  money,  anyhow?  Somebody's  bound  to  get  it." 

"Fifty  dollars?" 

He  looked  at  her  reproachfully.  "That's  an  insult  to 
10  145 


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Jim — he's  a  business  man,  he  is.  More  than  that —  Oh 
yes,  and  I'll  take  care  of  him  again — this  very  night. 
I'll  stake  him.  He  knows  a  place." 

"Will  you  do  me  a  favor?"  she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

Wharton  assured  her  with  abnormal  emphasis  that  her 
lightest  wish  was  law. 

"Then  go  straight  home  from  here,"  she  pleaded. 

"I  say,  that's  not  fair."  Bob  looked  ludicrously  shocked. 
"I  promised  Jim —  Wouldn't  have  me  break  a  sacred 
promise,  would  you?  We're  expected — a  little  game  all 
arranged  where  we  can  bust  it  quick.  If  you  hear  a  loud 
noise — that  '11  be  Melcher  going  broke." 

"  Melcher!"  Lorelei  looked  sharply  at  her  brother,  who 
was  approaching  with  her  wraps,  and  noted  that  he  was 
perfectly  sober.  A  moment  later  she  checked  Bob  in 
the  act  of  giving  directions  to  the  cab-driver: 

"Wait.    Where  do  you  live,  Mr.  Wharton?" 

"The  Charlevoix."  It  was  the  most  expensive  bachelor 
apartment  building  in  the  city. 

"Drive  to  the  Charlevoix,"  she  told  the  chauffeur. 

"Hold  on,  Sis,"  cried  Jim.  "We're  going  to  take  you 
home  first." 

"No." 

"But — "  Jim  saw  in  his  sister's  face  something  that 
brought  a  smothered  oath  to  his  lips.  Drawing  her  out 
of  hearing,  he  muttered,  angrily,  "Mind  your  business; 
I've  got  something  on."  , 

"I  know  you  have."  She  met  his  eyes  unflinchingly. 
"But  you  sha'n't  rob  him." 

Jim  thrust  his  thin  face  close  to  hers,  and  she  saw  that 
it  was  distorted  with  rage.  "If  you  don't  want  to  go 
home,  stay  here.  He's  going  with  me." 

"We'll  see." 

She  turned,  but  he  seized  her  roughly.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  him  he's  being  taken  to  a  crooked 

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gambling-house,  and  that  you're  working  for  Max  Melcher. 
He  isn't  too  drunk  to  understand  that." 

Her  brother  clenched  his  fist  menacingly,  but  she  did 
not  recoil,  and  he  thought  better  of  his  impulse. 

"Are  you  grand-standing?"  he  queried,  brutally.  "Are 
you  stuck  on  the  boob?  or  do  you  want  your  bit?" 

Without  reply  she  walked  back  to  the  cab,  redirected  the 
driver  to  the  Charlevoix,  then  seated  herself  beside  Whar- 
ton,  who  was  already  sinking  into  a  stupor.  Jim  slunk 
in  behind  her,  and  they  were  whirled  southward. 

It  was  a  silent  ride,  for  the  besotted  young  millionaire 
slept,  and  Jim  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  Lorelei 
closed  her  eyes,  nauseated,  disillusioned,  miserable,  see 
ing  more  clearly  than  ever  the  depths  into  which  she  had 
unwittingly  sunk,  and  the  infamy  into  which  Jim  had 
descended.  Nor  was  the  change,  she  reflected,  confined 
to  them  alone.  Upon  the  other  members  of  the  family 
the  city  had  stamped  its  mark  just  as  plainly.  She  re 
called  the  ideals,  the  indefinite  but  glorious  dreams  of 
advancement  that  she  had  cherished  upon  leaving  Vale, 
and  realized  with  a  shock  how  steadily  she  had  degener 
ated.  Where  was  her  girlhood?  Where  was  that  self- 
respect,  that  purity  of  impulse  and  thought  that  all  men 
recognize  as  precious?  Gradually,  bit  by  bit,  they  had 
slipped  away.  Wisdom  had  come  in  their  place;  knowl 
edge  was  hers,  but  faith  had  rotted.  Time  was  when  the 
sight  of  a  drunken  man  filled  her  with  terror ;  now  the  one 
beside  her  scarcely  awakened  disgust.  Bad  women  had 
seemed  unreal — phantoms  of  another  world.  Now  she 
brushed  shoulders  with  them  daily,  and  her  own  maiden 
hood  was  soiled  by  the  contact.  She  was  a  girl  only  in 
name;  in  reality  she  was  a  woman  of  the  streets,  or  so  she 
viewed  herself  in  the  bitterness  of  this  hour. 

At  his  hotel  Wharton  roused  himself,  and  Lorelei  sent 
him  reeling  into  the  vestibule.  Then  she  and  Jim  turned 
homeward  through  the  deserted  streets. 

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CHAPTER  XI 

DURING  the  last  act  of  the  matinee  on  the  day  fol 
lowing  Lorelei  was  surprised  to  receive  a  call  from 
John  Merkle.    "The  Judge"  led  him  to  her  dressing-room, 
then  shuffled  away,  leaving  him  alone  with  her  and  Mrs. 
Croft. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  broken  any  rules  by  dropping  in  dur 
ing  your  office  hours,"  he  began. 

"Theatrical  rules  are  made  to  be  broken;  but  I  do 
think  you  are  indiscreet.  Don't  you?" 

The  banker  had  been  using  his  eyes  with  an  interest 
that  betrayed  his  unfamiliarity  with  these  surroundings. 
' '  I  was  on  my  way  up-town  and  preferred  not  to  telephone. ' ' 
He  looked  meaningly  at  Croft;  and  Lorelei,  interpreting  his 
glance,  sent  the  dresser  from  the  room  on  some  errand. 
"Well,  the  game  worked,"  said  Merkle.  "Mrs.  Hammon 
has  left  home  and  commenced  suit  for  divorce.  If  our 
friend  Miss  Lynn  had  set  out  to  ruin  Jarvis  socially — 
and  perhaps  financially — she  couldn't  have  played  her 
cards  better." 

"Is  that  what  you  came  to  tell  me?" 

Merkle  hesitated.  "No,"  he  admitted,  "it  isn't;  but 
I'm  a  bit  embarrassed  now  that  I'm  here.  I  suppose 
your  mother  told  about  seeing  me?" 

"My  mother?"  Lorelei's  amazement  was  convincing, 
and  his  keen  eyes  softened.  "When  did  you  see  mother? 
Where?" 

"Yesterday,  at  my  office.  Didn't  you  know  that  she 
and  your  brother  had  called?" 

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Lorelei  shook  her  head;  she  felt  sick  with  dread  of  his 
next  words. 

"It  was  very — unpleasant,  I  fear,  for  all  of  us." 

"What  did  they — want?"  The  girl  was  still  smiling, 
but  her  lips  beneath  the  paint  were  dry. 

"  They  felt  that  I  had — er — involved  you  in  a  great  deal 
of  notoriety.  From  what  they  said  I  judged  that  you 
shared  their  feelings."  He  paused  awkwardly  once  more, 
and  she  motioned  him  to  continue.  "We  didn't  get  on 
very  well,  especially  your  brother  and  I;  for  he  presumed 
to — criticize  my  relations  with  you  and — er — my  motive 
in  taking  you  to  ride  the  other  night.  I  believe  I  was 
quite  rude  to  him;  in  fact,  I  had  the  watchman  eject  him, 
not  daring  to  trust  myself." 

"They  asked  for — money?"  Lorelei  averted  her  face, 
for  she  could  not  bear  to  meet  his  frank  eyes. 

"Yes — what  I  considered  a  great  deal  of  money.  I 
understood  they  represented  you.  They  didn't  insist, 
however;  they  offered  me  a  choice." 

"Choice?    Of  what?" 

"Well — I  inferred  that  marriage  would  undo  the  wrong 
I  had—" 

"Oh-h!"  Lorelei  rose  with  a  gasp.  Bravely  she  stilled 
the  tremor  of  her  lips.  "Tell  me — the  rest." 

"There  isn't  much  more.  Your  mother  was  quite 
hysterical  and — noisy.  To-day  a  lawyer  came  to  see  me. 
He  offers  to  settle  the  whole  matter,  but  I  prefer  dealing 
directly  with  you." 

"Do  you  think  I  knew  anything  about  it?"  she  cried, 
indignantly. 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  so  now.  Yesterday  I  was  too  much 
surprised  and  too  angry  to  know  just  what  I  did  think. 
It's  perfectly  true,  however,  that  I  was  to  blame  for  the 
unfortunate  outcome  of  the  ride,  and  I  want  to  make 
amends  for  any  injury — " 

"Weren't  you  injured,  too,  by  the  publicity?" 

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Merkle  showed  his  teeth  in  a  mirthless  smile. 

"That's  neither  here  nor  there." 

"Please — leave  me,  and — let  me  think  this  over.  I 
must  do  something  quickly,  or — I'll  smother." 

"I'm  glad  I  came,"  said  he,  rising.  "I'm  glad  I  made 
sure." 

"So  am  I.  What  you  have  told  me  has  made  a  great 
difference  in — everything.  Don't  allow  them  to — "  She 
hesitated  and  her  voice  broke.  "I  can't  say  it.  Y-you 
must  think  I'm — unspeakable." 

He  shook  his  head  gravely.  "No,  I  merely  think  you 
are  very  unfortunate.  I  think  you  need  help  more  than 
any  girl  I  ever  knew." 

"I  do.    I  do." 

"But  I  am  not  the  one  to  give  it  —  at  least  not  the 
kind  of  help  you  need." 

"I'll  need  help  more  than  ever — after  to-night." 

"Yes?    Why?" 

"Because  I'm  going  to  leave  home."  Lorelei's  head 
was  up,  and  she  spoke  with  a  note  of  defiance. 

"Then  perhaps  I  can  do  something."  He  seated  him 
self  again.  "You  will  need  money." 

"Oh  no.  I  have  my  salary  and  the  other  revenues  you 
know  about.  I  have  kept  my  family  for  two  years." 

"Work  won't  hurt  you,  but  why  force  yourself  to  go 
on  with  those  other  things?  They're  not  to  your  liking, 
I'm  sure." 

"My  mother  and  father  must  live.  There  isn't  enough 
— don't  you  see?  There  just  isn't  enough  for  all  of  us 
unless  I — graft  like  the  other  girls." 

Merkle  broke  out,  impatiently:  "Make  an  end  of  it. 
I'll  finance  you."  She  laughed  a  little  harshly.  "Don't 
misunderstand  me,"  he  went  on,  almost  eagerly.  "Don't 
think  for  an  instant  that  I'd  venture  to  expect  anything 
in  return.  I  won't  trouble  you;  I  won't  even  see  you. 
Nobody  will  ever  know.  I  wouldn't  miss  the  money, 

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and  I'd  really  love  to  do  it.  You  tried  to  do  me  a 
favor — " 

"There's  no  use  arguing." 

"Well,  don't  be  stubborn  or  hasty.  You  could  use — 
say,  ten  thousand  dollars.  It  would  keep  you  going  very 
nicely,  and  really  it's  only  the  price  of  a  new  auto." 

"Why  do  you  offer  me  so  much?"  she  asked,  curiously. 

"Because  I  like  you —  Oh,  I  mean  'like,'  not  'love'! 
Because  I  think  you're  a  good  sort  and  will  need  money 
to  remain  good.  You're  not  an  ordinary  woman,  Miss 
Knight;  you  can't  live  as  ordinary  women  live,  now  that 
you're  famous.  New  York  won't  let  you." 

"You're  very  kind  and  generous  after  all  that  has  oc 
curred  and  after  knowing  my  reason  for  being  here." 

"My  dear  child,  you  didn't  choose  your  family,  and 
as  for  the  other,  the  women  of  my  set  marry  for  money, 
just  as  you  plan  to  do.  So  do  women  everywhere,  for 
that  matter,  and  many  of  them  make  excellent  wives — 
yes,  far  better  than  if  they  had  married  poor  men.  Few 
girls  as  beautiful  as  you  in  any  walk  of  life  are  allowed  to 
marry  for  love.  Trust  me,  a  woman  like  you,  if  she  lives 
up  to  the  obligations  of  wifehood,  deserves  better  than 
one  who  takes  a  man  for  love  and  then  perhaps  goes  back 
on  her  bargain.  Will  you  accept  my  offer?" 

"No.    But  I  thank  you." 

"Think  it  over;  -there  is  no  hurry,  and  remember  I 
want  to  help."  With  one  of  his  infrequent,  wan  smiles 
he  extended  his  hand,  and  Lorelei  grasped  it  warmlv. 
though  her  face  was  set  and  strained. 

She  was  far  too  well  balanced  for  hasty  resolutions,  but 
her  mind,  once  made  up,  was  seldom  changed.  It  dis 
tressed  her  grievously  to  leave  her  people,  but  at  the 
thought  of  remaining  longer  with  them  every  instinct 
rebelled.  Her  own  kin,  urged  by  greed,  had  not  hesitated 
to  cheapen  and  degrade  her;  their  last  offense,  coupled 
with  all  that  had  gone  before,  was  more  than  could  be 


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borne.  Yet  she  was  less  resentful  than  sad,  for  it  seemed 
to  her  that  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  end.  First  the 
father  had  been  crippled;  then  the  moral  fiber  of  the  whole 
family  had  disintegrated  until  the  mother  had  become  a 
harpy,  the  brother  a  scamp,  and  she,  Lorelei,  a  shameless 
hunter  of  men.  Now  the  home  tie,  that  last  bond  of 
respectability,  was  to  be  broken. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  take  up  her  abode  with  Adore"e 
Demorest,  but  a  little  thought  showed  the  inadvisability 
of  that.  In  her  doubt  she  appealed  to  Lilas,  broaching  the 
subject  as  the  two  girls  were  dressing  after  the  perform 
ance. 

"An  apartment?"  echoed  the  latter.  "Why,  my  build 
ing  is  full  of  them.  Who  wants  one?" 

"I  do." 

' '  You —  ? ' '  Lilas  turned  with  her  mouth  full  of  hair-pins, 
and  her  hands  halted  in  their  nimble  duties. 

When  Lorelei  had  made  known  her  decision,  the  other 
girl  nodded  her  approval. 

"I  don't  blame  you  a  bit;  a  girl  needs  liberty.  I  have 
five  rooms,  and  a  Jap  to  take  care  of  them;  they're  lovely." 

"I  can't  afford  an  expensive  place." 

"Well,  there  are  some  three-room  flats  in  the  rear,  and — 
I  have  it !  Gertie  Moore  kept  one,  but  she's  gone  on  the 
road.  It's  all  furnished,  too.  Some  Rah-rah  boy  from 
Columbia  fixed  it  up  for  her,  but  they  had  a  row,  broke 
the  engagement,  and  she  joined  out  with  the  'Kissing 
Girls.'  If  it  hasn't  been  sublet  you  can  get  it  at  your 
own  terms.  The  building  is  respectable,  too;  it's  as 
proper  as  the  Ritz.  I'm  dining  alone  to-night.  Come  to 
dinner  with  me  and  we'll  find  out  all  about  it." 

Lorelei  would  have  preferred  a  different  location,  not 
particularly  desiring  to  be  near  Lilas;  but  there  was  no 
time  in  which  to  look  about,  and  the  necessity  that  faced 
her  made  any  assistance  welcome.  Without  more  discus 
sions  she  agreed,  and  the  two  girls  rode  up-town  together. 

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The  Elegancia,  where  Lilas  lived,  was  a  painfully  new, 
over-elaborate  building  with  a  Gothic  front  and  a  Gotham 
rear — half  its  windows  pasted  with  rental  signs.  Six 
potted  palms,  a  Turkish  rug,  and  a  jaundiced  Jamaican 
elevator-boy  gave  an  air  of  welcome  to  the  ornate  marble 
entrance-hall. 

Lilas  fitted  a  key  to  the  first  door  on  the  right  as  they 
went  in,  explaining,  "I'm  on  the  ground  floor,  and  find 
it  very  convenient." 

"This  place  is  too  grand  for  me,"  Lorelei  objected. 

"Oh,  offer  your  own  price  for  Gertie's  flat  if  you  like  it. 
They're  crazy  for  tenants.  If  you  didn't  want  a  furnished 
place  you  could  get  in  rent-free.  They  have  to  fill  up 
these  buildings  to  sell  them.  I've  lived  for  months  without 
paying  a  cent,  and  always  in  a  new  apartment.  As  soon 
as  my  lease  was  up  and  the  owner  wanted  to  renew  I'd 
move  to  another  house  that  wasn't  full.  It's  cheaper  than 
hotels — if  you  want  to  save  money." 

Lorelei  was  surprised  to  find  her  friend's  quarters  not 
only  richly,  but  lavishly  furnished.  The  floors  were  cov 
ered  with  rugs  of  the  deepest  hue  and  richest  luster;  the 
furniture  of  the  front  room  into  which  she  was  first 
ushered  was  of  an  inlaid  foreign  pattern,  of  which  she 
could  not  guess  the  name  or  period.  There  was  a  player- 
piano  to  match  the  furniture,  and  a  cabinet  of  rolls.  Near 
by  stood  a  specially  made  Victrola  with  an  extensive  selec 
tion  of  records.  There  were  bronze  lamps,  ravishing  bits 
of  bric-a-brac,  lace  curtains. of  which  she  could  judge  the 
quality,  and  heavy  hangings,  sheathed  now  in  their  sum 
mer  coverings.  The  decorations  of  the  room  were  har 
monious  and  bespoke  a  reckless  disregard  of  cost.  A 
fluffy  Japanese  spaniel  with  protruding  eyes  and  distorted 
visage  capered  deliriously  at  its  mistress's  feet. 

But  the  objects  that  intrigued  the  visitor  most  strongly 
were  several  paintings.  They  were  of  a  kind  she  had  sel 
dom  seen,  and  in  the  afternoon  light  one  stood  out  with 


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particularly  startling  effect.  It  was  a  dusky  landscape; 
there  was  a  stream,  a  meadow  edge,  trees  just  growing 
black  against  a  dying  sunset,  a  herd  of  cattle  coming  out 
of  the  west.  Before  this  picture  Lorelei  paused,  staring 
with  wide  eyes  of  wonder. 

Lilas  flung  her  hat  carelessly  into  a  chair,  lit  a  cigar 
ette  from  a  Tiffany  humidor,  then  turned  with  the  spaniel 
in  her  arms  and,  beholding  her  guest  with  rapt,  upturned 
face,  remarked,  with  a  laugh: 

"Looks  the  real  thing,  doesn't  it?" 

"Oh — it's  wonderful — so  clean  and  cool  and  quiet !  I've 
seen  cattle  in  Vale  that  looked  just  like  those,  when  I  went 
barefoot  in  the  grass." 

"Some  Dutchman  painted  it — his  name's  in  the  corner. 
He's  dead  now,  I  believe.  It  used  to  hang  in  some  museum 
— I  forget  where.  I  like  pictures  of  women  best,  but — " 
She  shrugged  and  left  her  sentence  unfinished.  "There's 
a  dandy  in  my  bedroom,  although  it  didn't  cost  half  as 
much  as  that  barn-yard  thing.  The  frame's  a  foot  wide 
and  covered  with  solid  gold." 

"I  had  no  idea  you  lived  like  this."  Lorelei  peered 
through  a  pair  of  French  doors  and  into  a  perfectly  ap 
pointed  library,  with  a  massive  mahogany  table,  deep 
lounging -chairs,  a  writing-desk,  and  a  dome- crowned 
reading-lamp. 

"My  study,"  Lilas  laughed,  shortly.  "That's  where  I 
improve  my  mind — not.  The  books  are  deadly.  Now 
come;  Hitchy  Koo  must  have  dinner  ready.  His  name 
isn't  Hitchy  Koo,  but  it  sounds  like  it,  and  he's  ''the  cutest 
little  thing;  got  the  cutest  little  swing.'"  She  moved 
down  the  hall  humming  the  chorus  of  the  senseless  popular 
song  from  which  she  had  quoted. 

Everywhere  was  the  same  evidence  of  good  taste  in 
decoration  and  luxury  of  equipment,  but  a  suspicion  had 
entered  Lorelei's  mind,  and  she  avoided  comment.  Hitchy 
Koo  was  cook,  butler,  and  house-boy,  and  in  view  of  Miss 


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Lynn's  disorderly  habits  it  was  evident  that  he  had  all 
he  could  do  to  keep  the  place  presentable.  His  mistress 
possessed  that  faculty  of  disarrangement  so  common  in 
stage- women;  wherever  she  went  she  left  confusion  be 
hind;  she  was  careless  to  the  point  of  destruction,  and 
charred  marks  upon  the  handsome  sideboard  and  table 
showed  where  glowing  cigarette  stumps  had  suffered  a 
negligent  demise.  The  spaniel  was  allowed  to  worry  bits 
of  food  that  left  marks  on  the  rug;  his  owner  ate  without 
appetite  and  in  a  hypercritical  mood  that  took  no  account 
of  the  wasteful  attempts  to  please  her.  Quite  regardless 
of  the  patient  little  Jap,  she  alternately  found  fault  with 
him  and  discussed  with  her  guest  matters  of  so  frank  a 
nature  that  Lorelei  was  often  painfully  embarrassed. 

"So,  you  like  my  home,  do  you?"  she  queried,  after  a 
time. 

"I've  never  seen  one  so  beautiful." 

Lilas  nodded.  "Hitchy  sleeps  out,  and  that  leaves  me 
the  whole  place.  Jarvis  furnished  it,  even  to  the  books, 
and  I'm  studying  to  be  a  lady."  Again  she  laughed 
mockingly.  "I  make  a  bluff  at  reading,  but  so  long  as  I 
talk  about  Napoleon  he  never  thinks  to  question  me.  I 
know  that  French  gink  backward." 

"I  wish  I  had  a  hobby — something  to  interest  me, 
something  to  live  for,"  said  Lorelei,  lamely. 

"Yes.  It  gives  you  something  to  think  about  when 
you're  alone.  It  helps  you  to — stand  things."  For  the 
first  time  Lilas  showed  a  trace  of  feeling  in  her  voice; 
she  dropped  her  chin  into  her  palm  and,  leaning  upon  the 
table,  stared  as  if  at  a  vision.  Her  dark  eyes  were  somber, 
her  brows  were  lowered  and  drawn  together. 

The  slipshod  informality  of  the  meal,  the  constant 
faultfinding  of  the  hostess,  made  it  something  of  a  trial. 
Lorelei  was  not  sorry  when  it  was  over  and  Lilas  took  her 
to  look  at  the  vacant  flat. 

Miss  Moore's  apartment  offered  a  wide  contrast  to  the 


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one  they  had  just  quitted,  being  very  small  and  very 
modestly  furnished;  but  it  was  on  the  second  floor,  con 
venient  to  both  elevator  and  stairway,  it  boasted  a  piano, 
and  the  superintendent  allowed  his  prospective  tenant 
to  name  her  own  terms.  She  descended  with  relief,  feel 
ing  that  she  had  made  not  a  bad  bargain. 

She  stated,  as  she  sank  into  Lilas's  big  library  chair, 
"I  feel  quite  independent  at  last.  The  rent  is  ridiculous, 
and  I  can  do  my  own  cooking." 

"Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself.  You  can  do  as  well  as 
I've  done.  You  have  the  looks." 

"But  I'm  not  engaged  to  a  multimillionaire." 

"It  seems  queer,  when  I  think  of  it,"  Lilas  mused. 
"Jarvis  is  one  of  the  richest  men  in  New  York,  and  he 
made  his  money  out  of  the  steel  business — the  business 
into  which  I  was  born.  Have  you  ever  been  through  a 
mill?" 

"No." 

"It's  wonderful,  terrible.  I  can  smell  the  hot  slag,  the 
scorching  cinders,  the  smoke,  to  this  day.  Some  nights 
I  wake  up — screaming,  it's  so  vivid.  I  see  the  glare  of  the 
furnaces,  the  belching  flames,  the  showers  of  sparks  from 
the  converters,  the  streams  of  white-hot  metal,  and  they 
seem  to  pour  over  me.  I  have  the  same  dream  always; 
I've  had  it  ever  since  the  night  after  my  father  was  killed." 

"You  told  me  he  was  killed  in  a  steel-mill." 

"Yes,  before  my  eyes.  I  saw  it."  Lilas  shuddered. 
"I  was  a  little  girl  then,  but  I've  never  forgotten.  We 
were  poor,  dreadfully  poor,  like  all  the  Jews —  Oh  yes; 
didn't  you  know  I'm  a  Jew?" 

"Then 'Lilas  Lynn'—?" 

"Stage  name.  It's  really  Lily  Levinski.  We  were 
Polish.  I  was  dragged  up,  along  with  the  other  workmen's 
children,  in  the  soot  and  grime  of  the  Pennsylvania  mills. 
We  never  saw  anything  green;  nothing  grew  in  our  town. 
I  learned  to  play  on  a  slag-pile,  and  my  shoes,  when  I  had 

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any,  were  full  of  holes — the  scars  are  on  my  feet  yet. 
Everything  was  grim  and  gray  there,  and  the  children  were 
puny,  big-eyed  little  things.  .  .  .  The  mills  were  hideous 
by  day,  but  at  night  they  became — oh,  tremendous. 
They  changed  the  sky  into  a  flaring  canopy,  they  roared 
with  the  clashing  of  rolls  and  the  rumble  of  gears;  the 
men  looked  black  and  tiny,  like  insects,  against  the  red 
glow  from  the  streaming  metal.  .  .  . 

"Hell  must  be  like  those  mills — it  couldn't  be  worse. 
I  used  to  watch  the  long  rows  of  little  cars,  each  with  an 
upright  ingot  of  hot  steel  on  its  way  to  the  soaking-pit, 
and  I  used  to  fancy  they  were  unhappy  spirits  going  from 
one  torture  to  another.  When  the  furnaces  opened  and 
the  flames  belched  out  into  the  night — they  threw  horrible 
black  shadows,  you  know,  like  eddies  of  pitch — or  when 
the  converters  dumped.  .  .  .  They  lit  up  the  sky  with  an 
explosion  of  reds  and  yellows  and  whites  that  put  out 
the  stars.  It — it  was  like  nothing  so  much  as  hell." 

Lorelei  had  never  heard  her  room-mate  speak  with  such 
feeling  nor  in  such  a  strain.  But  Lilas  seemed  quite 
unconscious  of  her  little  burst  of  eloquence.  She  was 
seated,  leaning  forward  now  with  hands  locked  between 
her  knees;  her  eyes  were  brilliant  in  the  gathering  dusk. 
Her  memories  seemed  to  affect  her  with  a  kind  of  horror, 
yet  to  hold  her  fascinated  and  to  demand  expression. 

"I  was  an  imaginative  kid,"  she  continued.  "It's  a 
trait  of  our  people,  like — well,  like  their  distrust  of  author 
ity  and  their  fear  of  law.  You  see,  persecution  made  them 
cunning,  but  underneath  they  are  fierce  and  revengeful 
and — lawless.  I  inherited  all  these  traits — but  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  story.  Father  worked  in  the 
Bessemer  plant,  like  any  hunkie,  and  the  women  used  to 
bring  the  men's  lunches  to  them.  Mother  wasn't  strong, 
and  that  duty  fell  to  me;  I  had  my  stand  where  I  used 
to  wait  for  the  whistle  to  blow.  .  .  . 

"It  was  one  of  the  biggest  mills  in  Pennsylvania,  and 

i57 


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its  tonnage  was  always  heavy  because  the  superintendent 
was  a  slave-driver.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  are 
born  without  soul  or  feeling,  and  he  had  no  interest  in 
anything  except  rails  and  plates.  His  plant  held  the 
record,  month  after  month,  but  at  last  he  lost  the  broom 
at  the  stack.  That  was  the  pennant  of  victory — a  broom 
tied  to  the  highest  chimney.  I  remember  hearing  father 
and  the  others  talk  about  it,  and  they  seemed  to  feel  the 
loss — although,  goodness  knows,  they  had  little  reason 
for  wanting  to  keep  the  broom,  since  it  meant  only  more 
sweat  and  labor  for  them,  while  the  glory  all  went  to  the 
superintendent.  But  that's  the  way  with  men.  .  .  . 

"One  day  I  took  my  bucket  and  joined  the  line  of 
women  and  girls  that  filed  in  through  the  gates.  I  was 
twelve  then,  but  stunted  with  smoke  and  thin  from  pov 
erty.  I'll  never  forget  that  day;  the  sole  of  one  of  my 
shoes  was  worn  through,  and  cinders  kept  working  in. 
I  took  my  stand  just  outside  the  Bessemer  plant.  It  was 
a  big  shell  of  steel  girders  and  corrugated  iron,  and  the 
side  where  we  were  was  open.  Away  up  above  were  the 
roaring  crucibles  where  the  metal  was  fluxed;  beneath  ran 
the  little  flat-cars  waiting  for  the  ingots  to  be  poured. 
Father  saw  me  and  waved  his  hand — he  always  waved 
at  me — then  I  saw  the  superintendent  coming  through — 
a  big,  square-faced  man  whom  everybody  feared.  We 
kids  used  to  think  he  was  an  ogre  and  ate  little  people. 
He  was  raging  and  swearing  and  spurring  the  men  on  to 
more  haste — I  heard  later  that  he  had  sworn  to  win  the 
broom  back  if  he  wrecked  the  plant.  Wherever  he  went, 
the  hunkies  danced;  he  could  put  life  into  a  dead  man's 
limbs,  that  man.  It  was  because  of  their  great  fear  of  him 
and  his  furious  urging  that — something  happened." 

Lilas  had  begun  her  recital  slowly,  without  apparent 
object,  but  once  into  it  she  seemed  unable  to  stop;  and 
now,  although  her  words  came  haltingly,  it  was  plain  that 
she  had  worked  herself  into  a  sort  of  hysteria  in  which 

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T  T  was  characteristic  of  her  that  she  could  so  excite 
1  herself  by  the  power  of  visualization  as  to  be  com 
pletely  transported. 


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she  gave  little  heed  to  her  hearer.  It  was  characteristic 
of  her  that  she  could  so  excite  herself  by  the  power  of 
visualization  as  to  be  completely  transported. 

"Something  went  wrong  overhead;  the  operator  got 
rattled  or  somebody  was  late  in  his  duties  and  fouled  the 
machinery;  anyhow,  the  converter  dumped  too  soon. 
Men  were  working  directly  underneath,  father  among  the 
rest.  Being  so  young,  I  had  no  idea  of  what  it  all  meant 
at  the  time — but  the  memory  stuck.  I  saw  him  go  down 
under  a  stream  of  liquid  steel — " 

Lorelei's  horrified  exclamation  went  unnoticed;  Lilas's 
voice  was  shrill. 

"Yes.  He  was  blotted  out,  right  there  before  my  eyes, 
in  an  instant.  In  the  time  it  takes  to  snap  your  finger, 
he — and  the  others — were  gone,  changed  into  smoke, 
into  absolute  nothingness.  One  moment  he  was  whole, 
alive,  flesh  and  bone,  the  next  he  didn't  exist;  tons  of 
boiling  metal  ran  over  the  spot.  Nothing  in  the  world 
was  ever  so  horrible.  You've  never  seen  liquid  steel 
nor  felt  the  awful  breath  of  it,  have  you?  There  wasn't 
even  a  funeral.  Twelve  men,  twelve  pinches  of  ashes, 
were  lost  somewhere,  swallowed  up  in  that  mass — noth 
ing  more.  There  was  no  insurance,  and  nobody  took  the 
blame.  Another  Jew  family,  a  few  more  widowed  and 
fatherless  foreigners,  among  that  army,  meant  nothing. 
Scarcely  a  month  went  by  without  accidents  of  some 
sort. 

"The  shock  finished  mother,  for  she  was  emotional 
and  she  had  imagination,  too.  I've  never  forgotten  that 
day,  nor  the  figure  of  that  shouting,  swearing  man  who 
came  through  the  Bessemer  mill  crying  for  more  speed, 
more  speed,  more  speed — so  that  a  broom  could  be 
hoisted  on  a  halyard  and  so  that  other  men  in  other  cities, 
for  one  short  month,  could  point  to  him  with  envy. 

"  I  suppose  I  was  too  little  to  make  any  foolish  vows 
of  vengeance,  for  I  was  only  a  ragged  mite  of  a  child 
li  161 


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among  a  horde  of  slaves,  but  when  I  grew  older  I  often 
dreamed  of  having  that  man  in  my  power,  and — making 
him  suffer.  Who  would — who  could  have  imagined  that 
I'd  ever  be  living  on  money  wrung  from  the  labor  of  men 
like  my  father,  and  be  in  a  position  to  meet  that  man  on 
an  equal  footing?  I  never  did — not  in  my  wildest  mo 
ments,  and  yet — here  I  am.  Steel-money  bought  these 
books,  these  rugs  and  paintings.  Any  one  of  those  pic 
tures  represents  the  wages  of  a  lifetime  for  a  man  like 
my  father.  He  was  murdered,  so  was  my  mother — but 
things  are  queer.  Anyhow,  here  I  am,  rich — and  the  day 
of  reckoning  gets  closer  all  the  time." 

She  ended  with  an  abruptness  that  evidenced  her  agi 
tation.  Rising,  she  jerked  a  beaded  chain  that  depended 
from  the  center  lamp,  and  the  room  was  flooded  with  mel 
low  light;  then  she  drew  out  the  table  drawer  at  her 
guest's  elbow,  and  with  shaking  hands  selected  a  small 
box  from  the  confusion  within.  Lorelei  recoiled  at  the 
sight  of  a  revolver  half  hidden  among  the  disorder. 

"Goodness!  I  hope  it  isn't  loaded,"  the  latter  ex 
claimed.  "Your  story  gives  me  the  creeps  and  that  thing 
— seems  to  fit  in." 

"It's  loaded,  all  right.  I  keep  it' for  protection,"  Lilas 
explained,  carelessly,  then  rang  for  the  Jap.  She  opened 
the  box,  which  contained  several  compartments,  in  one 
of  which  was  a  package  of  white  powder,  in  another  a 
silver  tablespoon.  When  the  obedient  Hitchy  Koo  ap 
peared  she  ordered  a  glass  of  water. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  told  you  all  this,"  she  half  apolo 
gized  to  Lorelei.  "It  has  upset  me,  as  it  always  does." 

"How  did  you  ever  grow  up  and — educate  yourself?" 

"I  hardly  know.  Some  neighbors  took  me  in  at  first, 
and  I  worked  for  them;  then  I  got  a  job  in  a  dry-goods 
store,  and  finally  in  the  corset  department.  I  filled  out 
when  I  began  to  get  something  to  eat  and  I  developed  a 
good  figure.  Finally  I  got  to  be  a  model.  I  was  quick 

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to  learn,  and  when  rich  dames  came  in  I  watched  them. 
I  became  good-looking,  too,  although  not  so  pretty  as  I 
am  now,  for  I  couldn't  put  the  time  or  the  money  on  it. 
But  I  was  pretty  enough,  and  I  seemed  to  appeal  strongly 
to  men.  Some  girls  do,  you  know,  without  understanding 
how  or  why.  First,  it  was  the  buyer  for  our  department ; 
he  lost  his  head  completely,  and,  although  he  was  married 
and  I  didn't  care  for  him,  I  realized  he  could  do  me  good. 
I  was  seventeen  then;  he  taught  me  to  dress  and  to  take 
care  of  myself — he  had  wonderful  taste  in  such  things. 
It  was  his  affair  with  me  that  finally  cost  him  his  place — 
and  his  wife,  too,  for  that  matter.  When  I'd  got  all  he 
had  I  left  him  and  came  to  New  York.  The  rest  isn't  a 
pretty  story,  for  I  went  the  way  most  girls  do  who  have 
that  appeal  I  spoke  about." 

Miss  Lynn  made  this  declaration  calmly  as  she  busied 
herself  with  the  glass  her  servant  had  fetched.  She  dis 
solved  a  portion  of  the  powder  in  the  spoon,  then  care 
fully  transferred  the  liquid  into  the  cap  of  a  pearl- 
and-gold  fountain-pen.  Inserting  the  open  end  of  the 
receptacle  into  first  one,  then  the  other  nostril,  she  in 
haled  the  contents. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  asked  Lorelei,  curiously. 

"Something  to  quiet  my  nerves.  I — wonder  why  I 
told  you  all  this?"  She  eyed  her  guest  speculatively,  then 
shrugged.  "Well,  since  we're  to  be  neighbors,  we  must 
be  friends,  and  there's  no  harm  done.  Now  that  Jarvis 
and  I  are  engaged,  he's  awfully  particular  about  the  com 
pany  I  keep,  but  he  likes  you.  How  different  they  act 
when  they're  in  earnest!  He  even  wants  me  to  quit 
work  now,  but  I  like  the  excitement — it's  better  than 
waiting."  She  glanced  at  her  wrist-watch  and  drew  her 
self  together.  "Our  time  is  up,  dear;  we  must  get  back 
to  the  show-shop." 


CHAPTER  XII 

TORELEI  exploded  her  bomb  at  breakfast  Sunday 
1-rf  morning,  and  the  effect  was  all  she  had  dreaded. 
Fortunately,  Jim  had  gone  out,  so  she  had  only  to  combat 
her  mother's  panic-stricken  objections  and  her  father's 
weak  persuasions.  So  keen,  however,  was  the  girl's 
humiliation  at  Merkle's  disclosure  that  Mrs.  Knight  dared 
not  go  to  the  lengths  she  would  otherwise  have  allowed 
herself,  and  Lorelei's  merciless  accusations  left  little  to 
be  said  in  self-defense.  Of  course,  the  usual  tears  followed, 
likewise  repetitions  of  the  time-worn  plea  that  it  had  all 
been  done  for  Lorelei's  own  good  and  had  been  prompted 
by  unselfish  love  for  her. 

"I'm  beginning  to  doubt  that,"  Lorelei  said,  slowly. 
"I  think  you  all  look  upon  me  as  a  piece  of  property  to 
do  with  as  you  please.  Perhaps  I'm  disloyal  and  ungrate 
ful,  but — I  can't  help  it.  And  I  can't  forgive  you  yet. 
When  I  can  I'll  come  home  again,  but  it's  impossible  for 
me  to  live  here  now,  feeling  as  I  do.  I  want  to  love  you — 
so  I'm — going  to  run  away." 

Tragically,  through  her  tears,  Mrs.  Knight  inquired: 
"What  will  become  of  us?  We  can't  live — Jim  never  does 
anything  for  us." 

In  Peter's  watery  stare  was  abject  fright.  "Lorelei 
wouldn't  let  us  suffer,"  he  ventured,  tremulously.  "I'm 
sick.  I  may  die  any  time,  so  the  doctor  says."  He  was 
indeed  a  changed  man;  that  easy  good  humor  that  had 
been  his  most  likable  trait  had  been  lost  in  habitual 
peevishness.  • 

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"I'll  keep  the  house  running  as  before,"  his  daughter 
assured  them,  "and  I'll  manage  to  get  along  on  what's 
left.  But  you  mustn't  be  quite  so  extravagant,  that's 
all.  I  sha'n't  be — and  you  wouldn't  force  me  to  do  any 
thing  I'd  regret,  I'm  sure."  She  choked  down  her  pity 
at  the  sight  of  the  invalid's  pasty  face  and  flabby  form, 
then  turned  to  the  window.  Her  emotion  prevented  her 
from  observing  the  relief  that  greeted  her  words. 

The  moment  was  painful;  Lorelei's  eyes  were  dim,  and 
she  hardly  saw  the  dreary  prospect  of  fire-escapes,  of 
whitewashed  brick,  of  bare,  gaping  back  yards  overhung 
with  clothes-lines,  like  nerves  exposed  in  the  process  of 
dissection. 

"Yes,  things  will  go  on  just  the  same,"  she  repeated, 
then  clenched  her  hands  and  burst  forth  miserably, 
"Oh,  I  know  how  badly  you  need  money!  I  know  what 
the  doctor  says,  and — I'll  get  it  somehow.  It  seems  to 
me  I'd  pay  any  price  just  to  see  dad  walking  around  again 
and  to  know  that  you  were  both  provided  for.  Money, 
money!  You  both  worship  it,  and — I'm  getting  so  I 
ean't  think  of  anything  else.  Nothing  else  seems  worth 
while." 

Two  hours  later  a  dray  called  for  her  trunks  and  took 
them  across  town. 

The  Elegancia  Apartments  looked  down  on  her  with 
chill  disapproval  as  she  entered;  the  elevator-man  stared 
at  her  with  black,  hostile  eyes  until  she  had  made  herself 
known ;  and  even  the  superintendent — in  a  less  pretentious 
structure  than  the  Elegancia,  he  would  have  been  the 
janitor — now  that  "Number  Six"  was  rented,  did  not 
extend  even  a  perfunctory  welcome  as  he  delivered  the 
keys.  On  the  contrary,  he  made  known  the  exclusive 
character  of  the  house  in  such  a  pointed  manner  as  to 
offend  her. 

Lilas  was  out,  she  learned,  which  probably  meant  that 
she  was  still  asleep.  Lorelei  ascended  to  her  new  home  in 

165 


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low  spirits.  Now  that  she  saw  the  place  in  strong  day 
light,  she  was  vaguely  disappointed.  On  the  evening 
previous,  the  superintendent  had  lighted  it  brilliantly, 
but  now  it  was  gloomy,  and  there  was  dust  and  disorder 
everywhere.  The  previous  occupant  had  undoubtedly 
been  a  temperamental  housekeeper;  the  tragic  awakening 
of  love's  young  dream  showed  in  the  hasty  nature  of  her 
departure  for  the  ice-box  was  lamentably  odorous  of 
forgotten  food,  the  kitchenette  needed  scrubbing  with 
hot  water  and  lye,  the  modest  fittings  of  the  whole  place 
were  in  topsy-turvy  neglect.  When  Lorelei's  trunks  were 
dumped  inside,  the  chaos  appeared  complete.  She  was 
not  accustomed  to  rely  upon  her  own  hands,  and  at  this 
moment  she  felt  none  of  the  pride  that  comes  of  inde 
pendence.  Instead  of  the  glad  spirit  of  freedom  she  had 
anticipated  she  was  filled  with  dismaying  doubts.  She 
sat  down,  finally,  in  the  midst  of  a  confusion  that  her 
first  efforts  had  only  doubled,  and  stared  about  her  with 
miserable  eyes.  She  was  very  lonely,  very  friendless,  and 
very  much  discouraged.  Then  she  noticed  the  telephone 
and  sprang  toward  it. 

Adore"e  was  at  home;  her  voice  answered  cheerily,  and 
her  interruptions  of  amazement  and  delight  caused  Lore 
lei's  message  to  spin  itself  out  unduly.  Without  waiting 
for  an  invitation  Adoree  cried: 

"Let  me  come  and  help.  Please!  We'll  use  both  the 
poodles  for  mops,  and  I'll  be  there  in  ten  minutes.  .  .  . 
You're  a  perfect  dear  to  say  ves.  for  I  know  you  want  to 
do  it  all  yourself." 

"Come  now — quickly.  I'm  scared — "  Lorelei  begged, 
in  tearful  tones. 

"I'll  drive  right  up  in  my  chariot  of  flame;  I  was 
going  out,  and  it's  waiting  while  I  kalsomine  my  face. 
Are  you  sure  everything  is  good  and  dirty?  Goody! 
We'll  make  the  prop  footman  work  for  once  in  his  life — 
no,  we'll  do  it  ourselves.  Good-by." 

166 


I'M  beginning  to  doubt  that,"   Lorelei  said,  slowl 


to  do  with  as  you  please." 


"I  think  you  all  look  upon  me  as  a  piece  of  property 


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In  a  surprisingly  short  time  the  Palace  Garden  star 
came  flying  up  the  stairs,  scorning  such  delays  as  elevators. 
She  flung  herself  upon  her  friend  with  a  hug  and  a  smack, 
crying,  "Hurrah!  Madame  Sans  Ge"ne  has  come  to  do 
the  scrubbing." 

Yet  she  hardly  seemed  dressed  for  house-cleaning.  A 
tremendous  floppy  hat  crowned  her  flaxen  head;  she  was 
tightly  incased,  like  a  chrysalis  in  its  cocoon,  in  a  delicate 
creation  of  pink;  her  gloves  were  long  and  tight,  and  her 
high-heeled  boots  were  longer  and  tighter.  Nevertheless 
she  promptly  proceeded  with  a  reckless  discard  of  her 
finery — a  process  she  had  begun  on  her  way  up-stairs, 
like  a  country  boy  on  his  approach  to  a  swimming- 
hole. 

She  paused  in  the  center  of  the  one  passably  sized 
room,  and  her  piquant  face  was  flushed  with  animation. 

"  How  perfectly  corking !"  she  exclaimed.  "  How  beau 
tiful!" 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Lorelei  asked,  doubtfully. 

"It's  just  dandy — so  cozy  and  secluded  and — shady. 
Why,  it's  a  darling  place!  Not  a  sound,  is  there?  Gee, 
what  a  place  to  sleep!"  She  sped  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  three  rooms  uttering  shrieks  of  rapture.  Even  the 
bath-room,  which  was  much  like  any  other,  although 
as  cramped  as  a  Chinese  lady's  foot,  excited  a  burst  of 
enthusiasm. 

At  last  she  ceased  her  inspection,  quite  out  of  breath, 
and  declared:  "  I'm  enchanted.  I  tell  you  there's  nothing 
like  these  inside  apartments,  after  all,  you're  so  safe  from 
burglars.  But  the  rent!  My  dear,  you  stole  this  place. 
And  to  think  it's  all  yours — why,  I'm  going  to  live  and 
die  here." 

"Will  you?    I  mean  live — " 

The  dancer  laughed.  "No,  no.  If  I  did  either  they'd 
fire  you  out.  But  I'll  come  often,  and  we'll  have  the  dear 
est  parties — just  we  two,  without  any  men.  We'll  let  our 

171 


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hair  down,  and  cook  and —  Will  you  look  at  that  gas- 
stove?  I  could  eat  it." 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  such  infectious  spirits.  Lore 
lei  began  to  see  sunshine,  and  before  she  knew  it  she  was 
laughing,  in  the  best  of  humor  with  herself  and  her  sur 
roundings.  Adoree,  clad  now  in  a  nameless,  formless  gar 
ment  which  she  had  discovered  in  a  closet,  her  own  modish 
belongings  safely  rolled  up  in  a  sheet,  had  covered  her 
head  with  a  towel  turban  and  incased  her  feet  in  an  old 
pair  of  shoes.  Thus  equipped,  she  fell  upon  the  task  of 
regeneration  with  fanatic  zeal.  She  became  grimy;  a 
smear  of  soot  disfigured  her  face;  her  skirt  dragged,  her 
shoe-tops  flopped,  and  the  heels  clattered;  but  she  was 
hilariously  happy. 

Side  by  side  the  girls  worked;  they  forgot  their  lunch 
eon,  then  sent  the  sad -faced  footman  in  search  of  a 
delicatessen  store,  and  ate  ravenously  with  a  newspaper 
for  table-cloth.  By  evening  the  place  found  itself  for  once 
in  its  life  clean  and  orderly,  and  the  two  occupants  dressed 
and  went  out  to  a  near-by  hotel  for  dinner.  Returning, 
they  put  the  final  touches  to  their  task. 

When  Ador6e  left,  late  that  night,  she  kissed  her  friend, 
saying: 

"Thank  you  for  the  loveliest  Sunday  I  ever  had.  It 
was  splendid,  and  I'll  come  again  to-morrow." 

The  theatrical  profession  is  full  of  women  whose  lives 
are  flawless;  hence  it  had  not  been  difficult  for  Lorelei  to 
build  up  a  reputation  that  insured  respect,  although  her 
connection  with  a  Bergman  show  made  the  task  more 
difficult  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been.  During  the 
two  years  of  her  stage  experience  no  scandal  had  attached 
to  her  name,  and  she  had  therefore  begun  to  feel  secure. 
In  that  period  she  had  met  many  men  of  the  usual  types 
that  are  attracted  by  footlight  favorites,  and  they  had 
pressed  attentions  upon  her,  but  so  long  as  she  had  been 
recognized  as  the  Lady  Unobtainable  they  had  not  forced 

172 


A  DOREE,  clad  now  in  a  nameless,  formless 
/l-garment,  had  covered  her  head  with  a  towel 
turban  and  incased  her  feet  in  an  old  pair  of  shoes. 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 


\ 


their  unwelcome  advances.  Now,  however,  that  a  scur 
rilous  newspaper  story  had  associated  her  name  with  that 
of  a  wealthy  man,  she  began  to  note  a  change.  The 
Hammon-Lynn  affair  was  already  notorious;  Lorelei's 
part  in  it  led  the  stage-broken  wiseacres  to  doubt  her  in 
nocence,  and  their  altered  attitude  soon  became  apparent 
to  her.  There  was  a  difference  also  in  the  bearing  of  cer 
tain  members  of  the  company.  She  heard  conversations 
retailed  at  second  hand  by  envious  chorus-mates;  in  her 
hearing  detached  remarks  were  dropped  that  offended 
her.  Bergman's  advances  had  been  only  another  dis 
quieting  symptom  of  what  she  had  to  expect  —  an 
indication  of  the  new  color  her  reputation  had  as 
sumed. 

Nobel  Bergman's  success  in  the  show  business  had  long 
been  a  mystery  among  those  who  knew  him;  for,  to  offset 
an  undeniable  theatrical  talent,  he  possessed  all  the  ap 
petites,  the  frailties,  and  the  passions  of  a  rake.  It  was 
perhaps  most  of  all  his  keen  personal  appreciation  of 
beauty  that  had  made  his  companies  the  sensation  of  New 
York.  At  any  rate,  he  had  done  amazingly  well  for  him 
self,  and  entertainments  of  a  certain  character  had  be 
come  known  as  "Bergman  Shows,"  just  as  show-girls  of 
a  dashing  type  were  known  as  "Bergman  Girls,"  even 
when  employed  by  rival  managers.  In  his  office,  or  dur 
ing  the  organization  and  production  of  his  spectacles,  he 
was  a  cold,  shrewd  man  of  business ;  once  the  venture  had 
been  launched,  he  became  an  amorous  hanger-on,  a  jackal 
prowling  in  search  of  a  kill.  His  commercial  caution 
steered  him  wide  of  the  moral  women  in  his  employ,  but 
the  other  kind,  and  especially  the  innocent  or  the  inex 
perienced,  had  cause  to  know  and  to  fear  him.  In  appear 
ance  he  was  slender  and  foppish ;  he  af f ecced  a  pronounced 
waist-line  in  his  coats,  his  eyes  were  large  and  dark  and 
brilliant,  his  mouth  was  sensual.  He  never  raised  his 
voice,  he  never  appeared  to  see  plain  women ;  such  girls  as 

175 


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accepted  his  attentions  were  sure  of  advancement,  but 
paid  for  it  in  other  ways. 

On  Monday  evening  Mr.  Slosson,  the  press -agent, 
thrust  his  head  through  the  dressing-room  door  and  in 
quired:  "May  I  come  in?" 

"You  are  in." 

"I  came  to  see  Lorelei.  Say,  there's  some  society 
people  out  front  who  want  to  meet  you,  and  you're  to 
join  them  after  the  show." 

"Indeed.    Who  said  so?" 

"Bergman." 

"Declined,  with  thanks,"  promptly  said  Lorelei. 

"Oh,  wait.  You  can't  decline  this;  it's  business;  Berg 
man  says  you  must  come  as  a  personal  favor  to  him. 
Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire  is  giving  a  box-party,  and  she 
told  him  to  fetch  you  around  for  supper.  She  owns  a  piece 
of  this  show,  and  the  theater  belongs  to  the  estate,  so 
you'll  just  have  to  go." 

"Mercy!  Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire,  the  college-boy's 
giddy  godmother,"  Lilas  mocked.  "I  suppose  she's  out 
slumming,  with  her  kindergarten  class." 

Slosson  frowned  at  this  levity.  "Will  you  go?"  he 
inquired.  "Yes  or  no?" 

"Um-m — I'll  have  to  say  'yes,'  it  seems." 

"Good.    I'll  'phone  Bergman." 

When  the  press -agent  had  gone  Lilas  regarded  her 
companion  with  open  compassion.  "  Gee!  But  you're  go 
ing  to  have  a  grand  time.  That  bunch  thinks  it's  smart 
to  be  seen  with  show-people,  and  of  course  they'll  dance 
all  night." 

Lorelei  groaned.  "And  I  did  so  want  to  go  straight 
back  to  my  new  home."  When  she  joined  her  employer 
after  the  show  she  was  in  no  very  agreeable  frame  of  mind. 

Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire  was  a  vermilion-haired  widow 
with  a  chest  like  a  blacksmith,  who  had  become  famous  for 

176 


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her  jewels  and  her  social  eccentricities.  She  and  her  party 
were  established  at  one  of  the  tip-town  "Trottoires,"  when 
Nobel  Bergman  and  Lorelei  arrived.  Three  examples  of 
blushing  boyhood  devoted  themselves  to  a  languid  blonde 
girl  of  thirty-five,  and  the  hostess  herself  was  dancing 
with  another  tender  youth,  but  she  came  forward,  panting. 

"So  good  of  you  to  come,  dear,"  she  cried.  "This  is 
Miss  Wyeth,  and  these  are  my  boys,  Mr. — "  She  spoke 
four  meaningless  names,  and  four  meaningless  smiles 
responded;  four  wet-combed  heads  were  bowed.  She 
turned  to  her  blonde  companion,  saying,  "She  is  pretty, 
isn't  she,  Alice?" 

"Very,"  Alice  agreed,  without  removing  her  eyes  from 
the  youth  at  her  left. 

Bergman  invited  Lorelei  to  finish  the  dance;  then  he 
inquired,  "What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Her  hair  fascinates  me;  she  looks  as  if  she  had  just 
burst  out  of  a  thicket  of  henna  leaves."  Bergman  laughed, 
silently.  "But  why  did  she  invite  me?" 

"I  told  her  to." 

"You?" 

"I  knew  you'd  refuse  if  I  asked  you." 

"So?    Then  I'm  really  your  guest  instead  of  hers." 

"We'll  leave  whenever  you  say." 

Throughout  the  rest  of  the  dance  Lorelei  was  silent, 
offended  at  Bergman's  deception  and  uncomfortable  at 
her  own  situation;  but  the  hostess  had  ordered  a  supper 
of  the  unsatisfactory  kind  usual  in  such  places;  little  as 
she  liked  the  prospect,  she  could  not  leave  at  once. 

The  meal  was  interrupted  regularly  each  time  the  music 
played,  for  dancing  was  more  than  a  fad  in  this  set — it  was 
a  serious  business  with  which  nothing  was  allowed  to 
interfere.  The  bulky  widow  was  invariably  the  first  upon 
her  feet,  and  Miss  Wyeth  followed  closely,  yielding  herself 
limply  to  the  arms  of  first  one,  then  another  of  the  youth 
ful  coterie.  She  held  her  slashed  gown  high,  and  in  the 
12  177 


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•more  fanciful  extravagances  of  the  dance  she  displayed 
a  slender  limb  to  the  knee.  She  was  imperturbable,  unen- 
thusiastic,  utterly  untiring.  The  hostess,  because  of  her 
brawn,  made  harder  work  of  the  exercise;  but  years  of 
strenuous  reducing  had  hardened  her  muscles,  and  she 
possessed  the  endurance  of  a  bear.  Once  the  meal  had 
dragged  itself  to  a  conclusion,  there  began  the  customary 
round  of  the  dancing-places — this  being  the  popular  con 
ception  of  a  lark — and  Lorelei  allowed  herself  to  be  bun 
dled  in  and  out  of  the  Thompson-Bellaire  theater-car. 
There  was  considerable  drinking,  Bergman,  who  devoted 
himself  assiduously  to  his  employee,  showing  more  effect 
from  it  than  the  others.  He  utterly  refused  to  take  her 
home.  As  the  night  wore  on  he  became  more  and  more 
offensive;  he  grew  coarse  in  a  sly,  tentative  manner,  as 
if  feeling  his  ground.  He  changed  the  manner  of  his 
dancing,  also,  until  Lorelei  could  no  longer  tolerate  him. 

"  Getting  tired,  my  dear?"  he  queried,  when  she  declined 
to  join  the  whirling  throng. 

"Yes.    I  want  to  go." 

"All  right."  He  leered  at  her  and  nodded.  "  Still  living 
on  Amsterdam  Avenue?" 

"No.    I've  moved  to  the  Elegancia." 

"So?    How  does  mother  like  it?" 

"She's—    I'm  living  alone." 

Bergman  started,  his  eyes  brightened.  "Ah!  Then 
you've  come  to  your  senses  finally.  I  thought  you  would. 
Let's  finish  this  dance,  anyhow." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  seen  dancing  too  much  with  you." 

"Why?" 

"You  understand  why,  Mr.  Bergman."  She  eyed  him 
coolly. 

The  lines  of  his  sinister  face,  loosened  and  sagging 
slightly  from  drink,  deepened  for  an  instant.  "Let  them 
talk.  I  can  do  more  for  you  than  Merkle  can." 

"Merkle?"  Her  expression  did  not  change. 

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"Now  don't  let's  deceive  each  other."  He  had  never 
found  it  necessary  to  cultivate  patience  in  his  dealings 
with  women,  and  when  she  pretended  ignorance  of  his 
meaning  he  flared  out,  half  in  weariness,  half  in  anger: 

"Oh,  play  your  game  with  strangers,  but  don't  put  me 
off.  Weren't  you  caught  with  him  at  the  Chateau? 
Hasn't  he  fixed  you  up  at  the  Elegancia?  Well,  then — " 

"You  needn't  finish.    I'm  going  home  now." 

He  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  her  arm.  "You  never 
learned  that  speech  in  one  of  my  shows,"  he  said,  "and 
you're  not  going  to  say  good  night  to  me.  Understand?" 
He  grinned  at  her  with  disgusting  confidence,  and  she  flung 
off  his  touch.  They  had  been  speaking  in  low  tones,  be 
cause  of  the  two  vacant-faced  boys  across  the  table;  now 
Lorelei  turned  appealingly  to  them.  But  they  were  not 
creatures  upon  whom  any  woman  might  rely.  Nor  could 
she  avail  herself  of  Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire's  assistance, 
for  the  widow's  reputation  was  little  better  than  Berg 
man's,  and  from  her  attitude  it  was  plain  that  she  had 
lent  herself  to  his  designs.  He  was  murmuring  slyly: 

"You're  a  sensible  girl;  you  want  to  get  ahead.  Well, 
I  can  put  you  at  the  top,  or — " 

"Or — what?"    She  faced  him  defiantly. 

"Or  I  can  put  you  out  of  the  business." 

The  returning  dancers  offered  a  welcome  diversion. 

Lorelei  dreaded  an  open  clash  with  the  manager,  know 
ing  that  the  place,  the  hour,  and  the  conditions  were  ill 
suited  to  a  scene.  She  had  learned  to  smile  and  to  con 
sider  swiftly,  to  cross  the  thin  ice  of  an  embarrassing  sit 
uation  with  light  steps.  Quickly  she  turned  to  Mrs. 
Thompson-Bellaire,  who  was  bowing  effusively  to  a  new 
comer. 

"My  word!  What  is  Bob  Wharton  doing  here?"  ex 
claimed  the  widow. 

"Bob  Wharton?  Where?"  Miss  Wyeth's  languor 
vanished  electrically;  she  wrenched  her  attention  from 

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the  wire-haired  fraternity  man  at  her  side.     Lorelei  felt 
a  sense  of  great  thanksgiving. 

Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire  beckoned,  and  Wharton  came 
forward,  his  eyes  fixed  gloomily  upon  Lorelei. 

"You  rascal!  So  this  is  how  you  waste  your  evenings. 
I  am  surprised,  but,  now  that  we've  caught  you,  won't  you 
join  us?" 

Wharton  glanced  at  the  four  pawns  and  hesitated. 
"It's  long  past  nine;  I'm  afraid  the  boys  will  be  late  for 
school." 

Miss  Wyeth  tittered ;  the  sophomore  with  the  bristling 
pompadour  uttered  a  bark  of  amusement.  Meeting  Bob's 
questioning  glance,  Lorelei  seconded  the  invitation  with 
a  nod  and  a  quick  look  of  appeal,  whereupon  his  demeanor 
changed  and  he  drew  a  chair  between  her  and  Nobel 
Bergman,  forcing  the  latter  to  move.  His  action  was 
pointed,  almost  rude,  but  the  girl  felt  a  surge  of  grati 
tude  sweep  over  her. 

There  was  an  interlude  of  idle  chatter,  then  the  orchestra 
burst  into  full  clamor  once  more.  Much  to  the  chagrin 
of  her  escort,  Lorelei  rose  and  danced  away  with  the 
new-comer. 

"Why  the  distress  signal?"  queried  Bob. 

"Mr.  Bergman  has — been  drinking." 

"Rum  is  poison,"  he  told  her,  with  mock  indignation. 
"He  must  be  a  low  person." 

"He's  getting  unpleasant." 

"  Shall  I  take  him  by  the  nose  and  run  around  the  block  ? ' ' 

"You  can  do  me  a  favor." 

He  was  serious  in  an  instant.  "You  were  nice  to  me 
the  other  night.  I'm  sorry  to  see  you  with  this  fellow." 

"He  forced — he  deceived  me  into  coming,  and  he's 
taking  advantage  of  conditions  to — be  nasty." 

Bob  missed  a  step,  then  apologized.  His  next  words 
were  facetious,  but  his  tone  was  ugly:  "Where  do  you 
want  the  remains  sent?" 

1 80 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"Will  you  wait  and  see  that  mine  are  safely  sent  home?" 
She  leaned  back,  and  her  troubled  twilight  eyes  besought 
him. 

"I'll  wait,  never  fear.  I've  been  looking  everywhere 
for  you.  I  wanted  to  find  you,  and  I  didn't  want  to.  I've 
been  to  every  caf£  in  town.  How  in  the  world  did  you 
fall  in  with  the  old  bell-cow  and  her  calf?" 

When  Lorelei  had  explained,  he  nodded  his  complete 
understanding.  "She's  just  the  sort  to  do  a  thing  like 
that.  Thompson,  the  first  martyr,  was  a  decent  fellow,  I 
believe;  then  she  kidnapped  Bellaire,  a  young  wine-agent. 
Tuberculosis  got  him,  and  she's  been  known  ever  since  as 
'the  widow  T.  B.'  I  suppose  you'd  call  her  'the  leading 
Juvenile.'" 

Lorelei  felt  a  great  relief  at  the  presence  of  this  far  from 
admirable  young  man,  for,  despite  his  vicious  reputation, 
he  seemed  clean  and  wholesome  as  compared  with  Berg 
man.  She  was  sure,  moreover,  that  he  was  trustworthy, 
now  that  he  knew  and  liked  her,  and  she  remembered  that 
of  all  the  men  she  had  met  since  that  newspaper  scandal 
had  appeared,  he  alone  had  betrayed  no  knowledge  of  it 
in  word  or  deed. 

On  this  occasion  Wharton  justified  her  faith.  He 
ignored  Bergman's  scowls;  he  proceeded  to  monopolize 
the  manager's  favorite  with  an  arrogance  that  secretly 
delighted  her;  he  displayed  the  assurance  of  one  reared 
to  selfish  exactions,  and  his  rival  writhed  under  it.  But 
Bergman  was  slow  to  admit  defeat,  and  when  his  un 
spoken  threats  failed  to  impress  the  girl  he  began  to  ply 
Wharton  with  wine.  Bob  accepted  the  challenge  blithely, 
and  a  drinking-bout  followed. 

The  widow  T.  B.  and  her  party  looked  on  with  enjoy 
ment. 

Dawn  was  near  when  the  crowd  separated  and  the 
hostess  was  driven  away,  leaving  Lorelei  at  the  door  of  a 
taxi-cab  in  company  with  her  two  admirers.  The  girl  bade 

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them  each  good  night,  but  Bergman  ignored  her  words  and, 
stepping  boldly  in  after  her,  spoke  to  the  driver. 

Bob  had  imbibed  with  a  magnificent  disregard  of  con 
sequences,  and  as  a  result  he  was  unsteady  on  his  feet. 
His  hat  was  tilted  back  from  his  brow,  his  slender  stick 
bent  beneath  the  weight  he  put  upon  it. 

"Naughty,  naughty  Nobel!"  he  chided.  "Come  out  of 
that  cab;  you  and  I  journey  arm  and  arm  into  the  pur 
pling  East." 

"Drive  on,"  cried  Bergman,  forcing  Lorelei  back  into 
her  seat,  as  she  half  rose. 

Bob  leaned  through  the  open  cab  window,  murmuring 
thickly:  "Nobel,  you  are  drunk.  Shocked — nay,  grieved 
— as  I  am  at  seeing  you  thus,  I  shall  take  you  home." 

"Get  out,  will  you?"  snapped  the  manager,  undertaking 
to  slam  the  door. 

But  Wharton  was  in  a  declamatory  mood  and  went  on, 
swingingly:  "  The  sky  is  faintly  flushed  with  pink ;  Apollo 
in  his  chariot  draws  nigh.  The  morning-glory  closes  with 
the  sun,  Bergman,  and  if  a  fairy  princess  is  late  she  will 
be  shut  out  and  forced  to  sleep  on  the  petals  of  a  rose. 
My  dear  Nobel,  don't  spoil  her  beauty  sleep." 

"I'm  tired  of  your  insolence.    I'll — " 

Bergman  never  finished  his  sentence,  for  in  his  rage 
he  committed  a  grave  blunder — he  struck  wildly  at  the 
flushed  face  so  close  to  his,  and  the  next  instant  was  jerked 
bodily  out  of  his  seat.  Lorelei  uttered  a  cry  of  fright,  for 
the  whole  side  of  the  cab  seemed  to  go  with  her  employer. 

There  was  a  brief  scuffle,  a  whirl  of  flying  arms,  then 
Bergman's  voice  rose  in  a  strangely  muffled  howl,  followed 
by  nasal  curses.  With  a  bellow  of  anguish  he  suddenly 
ceased  his  struggles,  and  Lorelei  saw  that  Bob  was  holding 
him  by  the  nose.  It  happened  to  be  a  large,  unhandsome, 
and  fleshy  member,  and,  securely  grasping  it,  Bergman's 
conqueror  held  him  at  a  painful  and  humiliating  disadvan 
tage. 

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Bob  was  panting,  but  he  managed  to  say,  "Come!  We 
will  run  for  the  lady — once  around  the  block." 

A  muffled  shriek  of  pain  was  the  answer,  but  the  street 
was  empty  save  for  some  grinning  chauffeurs,  who  offered 
no  assistance. 

"Be  a  good  fellow.  I  insist,  my  dear  Nobel.  Advance! 
Double  quick!  Charge!" 

The  two  men  moved  away  haltingly,  then  at  a  zigzag 
trot,  and  finally  at  a  slow  run.  They  disappeared  around 
the  corner,  Bob  Wharton  leading,  Bergman  bent  double 
and  screaming  poisonous  oaths. 

"Drive  on,  quickly,"  Lorelei  implored,  but  the  chauf 
feur  cranked  his  motor  reluctantly,  craning  his  neck  in 
an  evident  desire  to  see  more  of  this  interesting  affray.  His 
companions  were  laughing  loudly  and  slapping  their 
thighs.  Despite  Lorelei's  hysterically  repeated  orders,  he 
experienced  difficulty  in  starting  the  machine;  finally  he 
lifted  the  hood  and  fumbled  inside.  A  moment  passed, 
then  another;  he  cranked  once  more,  but  as  the  motor 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  shuddering  the  two  white-fronted 
figures  turned  the  upper  corner  and  approached.  Their 
relative  positions  were  unchanged.  The  block  was  a  short 
one,  yet  they  seemed  winded.  Bergman  was  sobbing 
now  like  a  woman,  and  he  was  followed  by  three  curious 
newsboys. 

Bob  paused  at  the  starting-point  and  wheezed :  "  Bravo ! 
You  done  noble,  Nobel.  We've  learned  some  new  steps, 
too,  eh?"  All  power  of  resistance  had  left  the  victim, 
who  seemed  upon  the  verge  of  collapse.  "I  say  we've 
learned  some  new  steps;  haven't  we,  Bergy?"  He 
tweaked  the  distorted  member  in  his  grasp,  and  Bergman's 
head  wagged  loosely. 

A  late  diner  cruised  uncertainly  down  the  street,  and, 
sensing  the  unusual,  paused,  rocking  in  his  tracks. 

' '  Whash  trouble  ?  Shome  fightin'  goin'  on  ?"  he  inquired, 
brightly.  , 

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"Oh,  please  —  please — "  Lorelei  cried,  tremulously. 
"Don't—" 

"Canter  for  the  kind  lady,"  Wharton  insisted.  "Come 
on."  He  began  to  lift  and  lower  his  shoulders  in  imitation 
of  a  rider.  Bergman  capered  awkwardly.  "Once  more." 

"Fine!"  shouted  the  drunken  spectator,  clapping  his 
hands  loosely.  ' '  Tha's  bully.  Now  make  'im  shingle-foot. ' ' 

"Single-foot?    Certainly.    He's  park  gaited." 

"Mr.  Wharton!  Bob — "  Lorelei's  agonized  entreaty 
brought  her  admirer  to  the  cab  door,  but  he  fetched  his 
prisoner  in  tow.  "Let  him  go  or — we'll  all  be  arrested." 

"Want  see  'im  shingle-foot,"  eagerly  importuned  the 
stranger. 

"I'll  take  off  his  bridle  if  you  insist.  But  it's  a  grand 
nose.  I — love  it.  Never  was  there  such  a  nose." 

Bergman,  with  a  desperate  wrench,  regained  his  free 
dom  and  staggered  away  with  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"It — actually  stretched,"  said  Bob,  as  he  regretfully 
watched  his  victim.  "I  dare  say  I'll  never  find  another 
nose  like  it." 

The  appreciative  bystander  lurched  forward  and  flung 
an  arm  over  his  shoulder,  then,  peering  in  at  the  girl, 
exclaimed:  "Good,  wasn't  it?  I  had  a  horse  once,  an' 
I  know.  You're  a'right,  m'  frien'.  Let's  go  get  another 
one." 

Lorelei's  cab  got  under  way  at  last,  but  barely  in  time, 
for  a  crowd  was  assembling.  She  sank  back  weakly,  and 
her  last  glimpse  showed  Wharton  arm-in-arm  with  the 
tipsy  wayfarer. 

Not  until  she  was  safely  inside  her  little  apartment, 
with  the  chain  on  the  door,  did  she  surrender;  then  she 
burst  into  a  trembling,  choking  fit  of  laughter.  But  her 
estimate  of  Wharton  had  risen,  and  for  the  first  time 
he  seemed  not  entirely  bad. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JIMMY  KNIGHT  felt  his  sister's  desertion  quite  as 
keenly  as  did  his  mother  and  father,  for  his  schemes, 
though  inchoate,  were  ambitious,  and  his  heart  was  set 
upon  them.  Lorelei's  obstinacy  was  exasperating — a 
woman's  unaccountable  freakishness. 

He  confided  his  disappointment  to  Max  Melcher.  "  It's 
pretty  tough,"  complained  Jimmy.  "I  had  Merkle  go 
ing,  but  she  crabbed  it.  Then  just  as  that  boob  Wharton 
was  getting  daffier  over  her  every  day  she  gets  her  back 
up  and  the  whole  thing  is  cold." 

"You  mean  it's  cold  so  far  as  you're  concerned," 
Melcher  judicially  amended. 

"Sure.    She's  sore  on  me,  and  the  whole  family." 

"  Then  this  is  just  the  time  to  marry  her  off.  New  York 
is  a  mighty  lonesome  place  for  a  girl  like  her.  Suppose 
I  take  a  hand." 

"All  right." 

"Will  you  declare  me  in?" 

"Certainly." 

Melcher  eyed  his  associate  coldly.  "There's  no  'cer 
tainly'  about  it.  You'd  throw  your  own  mother  if  you 
got  a  chance.  But  you  can't  throw  me,  understand? 
You  try  a  cross  and — the  cold-meat  wagon  for  yours. 
I'll  have  you  slabbed  at  the  morgue." 

Jimmy's  reply  left  no  doubt  of  the  genuineness  of  his 
fears,  if  not  of  his  intentions.  Strange  stories  were  told 
in  the  Tenderloin — tales  of  treachery  punished  and  in 
gratitude  revenged.  Jimmy  knew  several  young  men 

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who  appeared  out  of  the  East  Side  at  Melcher's  signal. 
They  were  inconspicuous  fellows,  who  bore  fanciful  dime- 
novel  names — Dago  Red,  Izzy  the  Toad,  Jew  Mike,  the 
Worm,  and  the  rest — and  no  rustler's  stronghold  of  the 
old-time  Western  cattle  country  ever  boasted  more  for 
midable  outlaws  than  they.  New  York  is  law-ridden, 
therefore  corruption  reigns;  vice  is  capitalized,  and  in 
consequence  there  are  men  who  live  not  only  by  roguery, 
but  by  violence.  They  hide  in  the  crannies  of  the  under 
world  ;  politics  is  their  protection.  At  election  times  they 
do  service  for  men  high  in  authority;  betweenwhiles  they 
thrive  on  the  bickerings  and  feuds  among  the  despoilers. 
Jim  knew  these  gunmen  well;  he  had  no  wish  to  know 
them  worse. 

"I  can't  promise  anything  definite  when  she's  sore  on 
me,"  he  declared. 

"Oh  yes,  you  can.  She'll  marry  to  please  your  mother 
and  father,  and  she'll  fix  them  up  the  first  thing.  Get 
them  to  agree  to  split  their  share,  and  I'll  take  a  hand. 
If  it  doesn't  go  through  there's  no  harm  done." 

"I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  frame  a  marriage — 
and  yet  she  won't  stand  for  anything  else." 

"You'll  have  to  help,  of  course,  and  so  will  your  mother. 
I've  a  hunch  that  we  can  handle  Wharton  all  right — 
through  booze.  A  man  can  be  made  to  marry  anybody 
if  he's  drunk  enough." 

"  He's  about  ready  to  ask  her — she's  the  one  to  fix.  She 
hates  men,  though,  and  that  Merkle  story  made  her  crazy." 

"Sore,  eh?" 

"She  talked  the  Dutch  route — thinks  her  good  name 
is  gone,  and  regards  every  man  as  a  hyena." 

Melcher  pondered  for  several  moments.  "I  think  I 
know  Lorelei  better  than  you  do,"  he  stated,  deliberately, 
"and  I  believe  we  can  pull  this  off,  provided  Wharton 
really  wants  to  marry  her.  Anyhow,  he's  so  rich  it's  worth 
the  odds,  and  she's  just  the  sort  to  fall  for  it." 

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"What's  the  idea?" 

"If  she's  sore  about  that  story  in  The  Despatch  we'll 
pull  another  one — and  keep  pulling  them." 

' '  Humph !    That  11  queer  Wharton. ' ' 

"Not  if  you  get  inside  his  shirt  and  make  him  believe 
they're  lies.  You  and  your  mother  will  have  to  convince 
her  that  he's  her  only  'out.'" 

"I  don't  think  much  of  that  program,"  Jim  protested, 
nervously. 

Melcher  smiled.  "A  girl  like  her  can  be  driven  any 
where  if  she's  handled  right.  Between  you  and  your 
mother  and  Lilas  you  can  do  it." 

"Perhaps,  but  I  doubt  it.  Ma's  got  her  afraid  of  men. 
If  we  could  scare  her  good,  if  we  could  tip  some  John  to 
rough  it  with  her  some  night,  she  might  stampede  to  the 
altar." 

"That's  easy,  but  you  can't  put  a  stop-order  on  a  thing 
like  that.  There's  no  telling  how  far  the  guy  might  go." 

"Oh,  she'll  take  care  of  herself,"  said  Jim,  carelessly; 
"she's  as  strong  as  a  pony." 

"If  you'll  take  the  chance  I'll  stake  a  shillaber  to  do 
it.  I've  got  half  a  dozen  high-class  fellows  working  the 
hotels,  and  Lilas  knows  some  of  them." 

Jim  shrugged  disgustedly.  "I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
repent  and  be  a  good  boy,"  he  snorted,  "and  let  Lorelei 
weep  on  my  shoulder.  Gee!  She  makes  me  sick." 

"I'll  take  care  of  my  part,  and — maybe  we  can  put  it 
through.  This  is  out  of  my  line,  but  they  do  it  abroad, 
so  why  not  here?  The  girl's  no  more  than  human." 
Mr.  Melcher  seemed  ingenuously  pleading  for  reason 
ableness.  "If  we  make  good  I'll  hang  out  a  sign,  'Max 
Melcher,  Matrimonial  Agent.'  Meanwhile  I  want  it  un 
derstood  with  your  mother  that  I  share  in  what  comes 
her  way." 

"I'll  fix  that,"  promised  Jim. 

He  found  it,  in  fact,  no  very  difficult  task  to  regain  at 

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least  a  part  of  his  sister's  lost  esteem,  though  the  process 
took  time.  He  went  about  it  with  the  lazy,  cat-like  pa 
tience  of  his  kind,  behaved  himself,  kept  his  mouth  shut, 
and  assumed  just  enough  of  an  injured  air  to  be  plausible. 
He  enlisted  the  aid  of  his  mother  and  of  Lilas  Lynn,  and 
meanwhile  made  himself  as  agreeable  as  possible  to  Robert 
Wharton. 

Melcher  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  there  shortly 
appeared  in  The  Despatch  an  unpleasant  rehash  of  the 
former  story.  It  was  published  in  connection  with  the 
Hammon  divorce  proceedings,  news  of  which  was  exciting 
comment,  and  it  further  smirched  Lorelei's  reputation. 
Wharton  ignored  it  utterly,  but  Merkle  was  prompt  in  his 
indignation  and  sympathy.  This  unshaken  confidence  in 
her  afforded  Lorelei  far  more  comfort  than  Bob's  uncon 
cerned  attitude,  which  might  be  merely  the  result  of  his 
own  lax  standards.  Upon  the  other  men  she  knew  the 
effect  of  the  story  was  quickly  noticeable,  and  she  was 
forced  to  be  on  guard  at  all  times.  Several  whom  she 
considered  sincere  admirers  proved  to  be  quite  the  oppo 
site  ;  some  whom  she  had  counted  as  friends  dropped  her 
entirely ;  others  of  a  different  sort  undertook  to  press  their 
acquaintance  beyond  prudent  bounds. 

Jim  was  appropriately  indignant,  but  helpless,  and  Mrs. 
Knight  unweariedly  blamed  everything  upon  her  daugh 
ter's  desertion  of  the  family  circle,  predicting  more  evil  to 
follow  unless  Lorelei  came  home  at  once.  She  also  dwelt 
upon  the  fact  that  Peter  was  steadily  failing  and  was  in 
immediate  need  of  both  medical  and  surgical  attention. 
The  doctor  had  pronounced  sentence,  prescribing  a 
total  change  of  living  and  a  treatment  by  foreign  spe 
cialists. 

In  some  unaccountable  way  the  story  of  Nobel  Berg 
man's  humiliation  became  public  and  afforded  the  basis 
for  a  newspaper  article  that  brought  him  to  Lorelei's 
dressing-room  in  a  fine  fury.  Even  after  she  had  con- 

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vinced  him  of  her  innocence  his  resentment  was  so  bitter 
that  she  expected  her  dismissal  at  any  time. 

Other  press  stories  followed;  the  girl  suddenly  found 
herself  notorious;  scarcely  a  day  passed  without  some 
disagreeable  mention  of  her.  There  was  published  a 
highly  imaginative  but  circumstantial  account  of  a  weak- 
minded  youth  whom  she  had  driven  to  suicide — utterly 
false,  of  course,  but  difficult  to  deal  with.  A  Sunday 
"special"  appeared — one  of  those  fantastic,  colored-sup 
plement  nightmares — in  which  she  was  pictured  as  a  vam 
pire  with  an  angel's  face.  It  was  the  hackneyed  "moth 
and  flame"  story.  The  page  was  luridly  decorated  with 
a  swarm  of  entomological  curiosities — winged  bipeds  sup 
posedly  representing  her  fatuous  admirers.  These  fond 
victims  of  her  enticements  appeared  to  be  badly  singed 
and  crippled. 

Adore*e  Demorest,  as  indignant  as  Lorelei  herself, 
declared  finally  that  her  friend  must  be  the  object  of  a 
premeditated  attack  directed  by  some  strong  hand,  and 
once  this  suspicion  had  entered  Lorelei's  mind  it  took 
root  in  spite  of  its  seeming  extravagance.  Her  good  sense 
argued  that  she  was  of  too  little  consequence  to  warrant 
such  an  assault,  but  her  relatives  seized  the  suggestion  so 
avidly  as  to  more  than  half  convince  her. 

Mrs.  Knight  attributed  this  injustice  first  to  Bergman, 
then  to  Merkle,  whom  she  hated  bitterly  since  her  unfortu 
nate  attempt  at  blackmail;  Jim  was  inclined  to  agree  with 
her. 

"Money  can  do  anything,"  he  stated,  gloomily,  "and 
these  big  guys  amuse  themselves  by  hunting  beautiful 
women.  It's  a  game  with  them.  When  one  of  'em  takes 
a  fancy  to  a  girl  she's  a  goner.  It  may  not  be  Merkle 
in  this  case,  but — you're  the  handsomest  woman  in  New 
York,  and  I'll  bet  some  old  spider  is  weaving  his  web  for 
you.  When  he  has  spoiled  your  good  name  and  ruined 
your  chances  of  marrying  or  of  making  an  honest  living 

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he'll  creep  out  and  show  himself.  They  frame  innocent 
men  for  Sing  Sing  in  this  town,  so  why  can't  they  frame  a 
girl  for  something  else?" 

Lorelei  abhorred  spiders;  the  picture  of  some  evil- 
minded  millionaire  enmeshing  her  in  a  web  of  intrigue 
brought  a  sickening  feeling  of  helplessness  and  apprehen 
sion.  Of  course  she  thought  the  idea  utterly  fantastic,  but 
Jim  and  her  mother  appeared  to  believe  it,  and  her  own 
notions  of  the  city's  wickedness  were  so  vivid  that  any 
thing  seemed  possible.  Certainly  some  malign  influence 
seemed  to  be  deliberately  at  work  against  her,  and  a  thou 
sand  disagreeable  incidents,  once  she  took  time  to  reflect 
upon  them,  bore  out  her  suspicions.  She  was  half  minded 
to  run  away,  but  dared  not. 

Mrs.  Knight,  as  always,  ended  her  sympathetic  reas 
surances  by  saying,  "If  you  were  only  married,  my  dear, 
that  would  end  all  our  troubles." 

The  climax  of  these  annoyances  came  one  night  after 
a  party  at  which  Lorelei  had  been  presented  to  an  old 
friend  of  Miss  Lynn's.  Lilas  had  introduced  the  man  as 
one  of  her  girlhood  chums,  and  Lorelei  had  tried  to  be 
nice  to  him;  then  in  some  way  he  arranged  to  take  .her 
home.  The  memory  of  that  ride  was  a  horror. 

Lorelei,  as  Jim  had  said,  was  strong,  and  she  fought 
the  ruffian's  attack  with  the  desperation  of  utter  terror; 
but  her  shame  at  the  indignity  was  so  keen  that  she  re 
frained  as  long  as  possible  from  crying  for  help.  Then, 
hearing  her  screams,  the  chauffeur  stopped  his  car  and 
made  an  investigation.  Fortunately  for  her,  he  was  more 
of  a  man  than  most  night-hawk  drivers,  and  he  promptly 
summoned  an  officer. 

Miss  Lynn's  girlhood  friend  waited  for  no  test  of  the 
law;  he  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  uttering  threats  that  rang 
in  Lorelei's  ears  and  redoubled  her  previous  fears. 

Her  wrists  and  arms  bore  purple  marks,  her  dress  was 
torn,  her  limbs  shook  from  the  effects  of  her  struggle, 

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and  even  when  she  had  gained  the  security  of  her  rooms 
she  was  unable  to  shake  off  her  fright.  Neither  could  she 
sleep,  for  menacing  forms  crouched  in  the  darkness: 
most  of  the  night  she  walked  the  floor  in  a  panic. 

She  knew  now  that  she  was  hunted ;  the  man  had  told 
her  so.  She  felt  like  a  deer  cowering  in  a  brake  with  the 
hounds  working  close.  Her  cover  seemed  pitifully  inse 
cure. 

Thus  far  Max  Melcher's  campaign  had  worked  even 
better  than  he  had  expected;  and  meanwhile  he  had 
employed  Jim  in  assiduously  cultivating  Robert  Wharton 
and  arranging  as  many  meetings  as  possible  between  Bob 
and  Lorelei.  A  short  experience  had  taught  Jim  to  avoid 
his  victim  in  daylight,  for  in  Bob's  sober  hours  the  two  did 
not  agree;  but  once  mellowed  by  intoxication,  Wharton 
became  imbued  with  a  carnival  spirit  and  welcomed  Jim 
as  freely  as  he  welcomed  every  one.  Incidentally  the  latter 
managed  to  reap  a  considerable  harvest  from  the  associa 
tion,  for  Bob  was  a  habitual  gambler,  and  the  courteous 
treatment  he  received  at  Melcher's  place  seemed  to  recon 
cile  him  to  the  loss  of  any  amount  of  money. 

When,  on  the  morning  after  her  distressing  adventure, 
Lorelei  sent  for  her  brother  and  demanded  vengeance 
upon  her  .assailant  he  decided  that  it  was  time  to  test 
the  issue.  He  pretended,  of  course,  to  be  ferociously 
enraged,  but  on  learning  over  the  telephone  that  the 
wretch  had  left  the  city  he  declared  that  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  done  except  perhaps  exact  an  explanation  from 
Lilas. 

Miss  Lynn,  however,  could  offer  no  excuse.  She  was 
heartbroken  at  the  occurrence,  but  she  was  too  full  of 
her  own  troubles  to  give  way  to  her  sympathy  for  others. 
Jarvis  Hammon,  it  seemed,  had  heard  about  the  party, 
and  was  furious  with  her. 

"You  must  expect  to  meet  some  muckers  in  this  busi 
ness,"  she  remarked,  philosophically,  "and  you've  had 

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so  much  notoriety,  my  dear,  that  the  fellow  probably 
wouldn't  believe  you  were  all  right." 

Jim  agreed.  "I  guess  you'll  have  to  forget  it,  Sis. 
Just  don't  think  about  it.  I'll  bring  Wharton  around  to 
night,  and  we  four  will  have  supper,  eh?" 

Lilas's  hesitation  in  accepting  this  invitation  seemed 
genuine,  but  she  acquiesced  finally,  saying  with  a  short 
laugh:  "All  right.  Maybe  a  little  jealousy  won't  hurt 
my  lord  and  master.  He's  getting  too  bossy,  anyhow." 

When  the  four  .set  out  that  night  Robert  Wharton 
was  in  exceptional  spirits  and,  as  always,  devoted  himself 
to  Lorelei.  For  him  life  was  a  joyous  adventure;  he  took 
things  as  they  came,  and  now  that  he  knew  the  girl  for 
what  she  was  he  did  not  allow  himself  the  slightest  lib 
erty.  He  was  a  fervent  suitor,  to  be  sure,  yet  he  courted 
her  with  jests  and  concealed  his  ardor  behind  a  playful 
raillery. 

Jim  had  ordered  supper  at  a  popular  Washington 
Heights  inn,  and  thither  the  quartette  were  driven  in  an 
open  car  which  he  hired  in  the  square  beside  the  theater. 

As  the  glassy  expanse  of  upper  Broadway  unrolled 
before  them  Bob  explained:  "My  chauffeur  quit  to 
invest  his  savings  in  real  estate,  so  I  sold  my  machine. 
If  he'd  only  listened  to  my  advice  and  bought  stocks  with 
my  money  I  might  have  made  a  good  commission  and 
afforded  to  keep  a  car.  But  nobody  deals  with  the  brokers 
nowadays."  He  sighed  gloomily.  "We  live  lonely  lives. 
We  are  objects  of  suspicion — even  the  newsboys  bite  the 
pennies  we  give  them." 

Jim  scoffed.  "  I  suppose  you  Pittsburg  plunderers  don't 
know  where  your  next  meal  is  coming  from." 

"Mine  is  coming  from  you,  I  hope,  otherwise  I'll  be  a 
public  charge  until  banking-hours." 

"You've  been  gambling  again,"  Lorelei  accused. 

Bob  nodded  carelessly. 

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At  their  destination  they  found  seats  on  a  balcony  over 
looking  the  Hudson;  and  Jim,  being  in  funds,  played  host 
with  a  prodigality  that  mimicked  Wharton. 

It  was  a  charming  place  for  a  supper;  the  wooded 
bluffs  fell  away  abruptly  and  a  cool  breath  from  the  river 
refreshed  the  diners:  the  inn  itself  was  just  comfortably 
filled  with  merry-makers  whom  the  heat  had  driven  from 
the  asphalt  canons  farther  down-town;  in  the  distance 
the  Jersey  lights  winked  like  glittering  brilliants  sewed 
into  the  night;  other  illuminations  swam  through  the 
mysterious  void  separating  the  shores;  an  orchestra 
played,  not  too  loudly,  and  several  couples  were  dancing. 
It  had  been  a  stifling  week;  people  complained  that  they 
could  not  dine  in  comfort,  yet  they  tangoed  and  trotted 
bravely  wherever  there  was  music  and  an  open  floor. 

Contrary  to  her  custom,  Lilas  Lynn  allowed  herself 
free  rein,  and  for  once  drank  more  than  was  good  for  her, 
rejoicing  openly  in  the  liberty  she  had  snatched. 

It  is  a  peculiar  experience  to  sit  soberly  through  a  meal 
and  see  one's  companions  become  intoxicated.  Lorelei 
had  often  done  so,  carelessly  enough,  but  now  her  recent 
worries  had  not  only  depressed  her,  but  made  her  pensive, 
and  it  was  in  no  approving  mood  that  she  watched  Lilas 
and  Bob  respond  to  the  effect  of  the  wine.  The  whole 
procedure  struck  her,  like  her  present  life  as  a  whole,  as 
both  inane  and  wicked,  and  she  longed  desperately  to  lay 
hold  of  something  really  decent,  true,  and  permanent. 

Jimmy  Knight's  admirable  hospitality  continued;  he 
devoted  his  entire  attention  to  his  guests,  he  made  con 
versation  and  he  led  it  into  the  channels  he  desired  it  to 
follow.  Then,  when  the  psychological  moment  had  come, 
he  acted  with  the  skill  of  a  Talleyrand.  No  one  but  he 
knew  precisely  how  Bob's  proposal  was  couched,  whence 
it  originated,  or  by  what  subtlety  the  victim  had  been 
induced  to  make  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  no  pro 
posal,  and  not  even  Bob  himself  suspected  how  his  words 
13  J93 


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had  been  twisted.    He  was  just  dimly  aware  of  some  turn 
in  the  conversation,  when  he  heard  Jim  exclaim: 

"By  Jove,  Sis,  Bob  asks  you  to  marry  him!" 

In  prize-ring  parlance,  Jimmy  had  "feinted"  his  oppo 
nent  into  a  lead,  then  taken  prompt  advantage  to  "coun 
ter." 

Lorelei  awoke  to  her  surroundings  with  a  start,  sensing 
the  sudden  gravity  that  had  fallen  upon  her  three  com 
panions. 

"What—?" 

Lilas  nodded  and  smiled  at  the  bewildered  lover. 
"That's  the  way  to  put  it  over,  Bob  —  before  wit 
nesses." 

"Don't  joke  about  such  things,"  cried  Lorelei,  sharply. 

"Joke  ?  Who's  joking  ?"  Jim  was  indignant  and  glanced 
appealingly  at  Bob.  "You  meant  it,  didn't  you?" 

"Sure.  No  joking  matter,"  Bob  declared,  vaguely. 
"  I  was  just  saying  that  this  is  no  life  for  a  fellow  to  lead — 
batting  'round  the  way  I  do;  then  Jim  said — I  mean  I 
said — I  needed  a  wife,  a  beautiful  wife.  I  never  saw  a 
girl  beautiful  enough  to  suit  me  before,  and  he  said — " 

Jim's  relief  came  as  an  explosion. 

"There!  That's  English.  You  spoke  a  mouthful  that 
time,  Bob,  for  she  certainly  is  a  beauty  bright.  But  I 
didn't  think  you  had  the  nerve  to  ask  her.  If  she  says 
yes,  you'll  be  the  luckiest  man  in  New  York — the  whole 
town's  crazy  about  her." 

"We'll  make  her  say  yes,"  Lilas  added,  with  drunken 
decision.  "Come,  dear,  say  it."  She  bent  a  flushed  face 
toward  Lorelei  and  laid  a  loose  hand  upon  her  arm. 
"Well?  What's  your  answer?" 

Bob  fixed  heavy  eyes  upon  his  heart's  desire  and  echoed : 
"Yes.  What  d'  you  say?"  More  than  once  in  his  sober 
moments  he  had  pondered  such  a  query,  and  now  that  it 
appeared  to  have  taken  shape  without  conscious  effort,  he 
was  not  displeased  with  himself. 

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"I  say,  you  don't  know  what  you're  doing,"  Lorelei  re 
sponded,  curtly. 

Now  Bob,  like  all  men  in  his  condition,  was  quite  cer 
tain  that  he  was  in  perfect  possession  of  his  faculties,  and 
therefore  he  very  naturally  resented  such  an  absurd 
assertion.  "Don't  you  b'lieve  it,"  he  protested.  "I 
know  what  I'm  doing,  all  right,  all  right." 

"A  man  never  speaks  his  mind  until  he's  ginned,"  Lilas 
giggled. 

' '  Righto !    I'm  not  half  drunk  yet. " 

Jim  urged  the  suitor  on  with  a  nervous  laugh,  at  the 
same  time  avoiding  his  sister's  eyes.  "  She's  stalling,  Bob. 
Make  her  answer." 

"Yes  or  no?"  forcefully  insisted  the  wooer,  determined, 
now,  to  show  his  complete  sobriety. 

"No." 

Jim  seized  Wharton's  hand  and  shook  it  lustily.  "Con 
gratulations,  old  man;  that  means  yes.  I'm  her  brother, 
and  I  know.  Why,  she  told  father  that  you  were  her  ideal, 
and  pa  said  he'd  die  happy  if  you  two  were  married.  He 
meant  it,  too;  he's  a  mighty  sick  man." 

Lorelei  stirred  uncomfortably,  and  the  faint  color  in  her 
cheeks  faded  slowly.  "We'll  talk  about  it  some  other 
time — to-morrow.  Please  don't  tease  the  poor  man  any 
more.  He  didn't  know  what  he  was  saying,  and — now, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  talk  about  something  else." 

Jim  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  grin  and  a  chuckle,  then 
drew  Lilas  from  her  chair,  saying:  "The  lovers  are  em 
barrassed,  and  they're  dying  to  be  alone.  Let's  leave  'em 
to  talk  it  over." 

"She's  a  dear,  Bob,  and  I  wish  you  both  joy.  But 
don't  kiss  her  here,"  said  Lilas,  warningly;  then  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand  she  turned  toward  the  dancing-room 
with  Jim. 

"Call  us  when  you've  fixed  the  date,"  laughed  the 
latter,  over  his  shoulder. 

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When  he  and  Lilas  had  danced  the  encore  and  returned 
to  the  table  Bob  rose  unsteadily,  glass  in  hand,  and 
nodded  at  them. 

"Thanks,  noble  comrades,"  he  proclaimed;  "she's 
mine!" 

"Hurrah!"  Lilas  kissed  Lorelei  effusively.  Jim  seized 
Bob's  hand,  crying: 

"Brother!"  He  waved  to  a  waiter  and  ordered  a 
magnum  of  champagne.  "Bring  me  a  wreath  of  orange 
blossoms  and  a  wedding-cake,  too."  His  jubilation  at 
tracted  the  attention  of  the  other  diners;  the  occupants 
of  a  near-by  table  began  to  applaud,  whereupon  Bob 
beamed  with  delight. 

Lorelei  was  very  white  now,  but  she  was  given  no 
chance  to  speak.  Nor  was  there  anything  for  her  to  say, 
torn  as  she  was  by  conflicting  emotions  and  uncertain  of 
what  feeling  most  strongly  possessed  her.  Foremost  in 
her  thoughts  was  the  realization  that  she  had  won  the 
fight  she  had  been  reared  and  trained  for,  that  the  climax 
of  her  worldly  hopes  had  come;  but  with  this  she  also 
experienced  a  sickly  loathing  for  herself.  During  Bob's 
protestations  of  love  she  had  fought  a  brief  but  disastrous 
battle.  That  moral  perfidy  which  had  been  her  teaching 
since  childhood  had  influenced  her  decision  no  more  per 
haps  than  her  terror  at  the  plight  in  which  her  mysterious 
persecution  had  left  her.  Weighing  on  the  same  side  with 
these  considerations  were  also  the  needs  of  her  family, 
her  own  bitter  distaste  for  her  present  life,  and  her  desire 
for  peace  and  outward  respectability  even  at  the  cost  of 
secret  degradation.  She  had  decided  swiftly,  recklessly, 
reasoning  that  this  proffered  marriage  was  merely  a  bargain 
by  which  she  got  more  than  she  gave.  She  had  accepted 
without  allowing  her  better  self  an  opportunity  to  marshal 
its  protests,  and,  having  closed  her  eyes  and  leaped  into  the 
dark,  it  now  seemed  easier  to  meet  new  consequences 
than  to  heed  those  higher  feelings  that  were  tardily 

198 


'  AH!    You're  home  again,  finally.    Where  have  you  been?' 
/~v  his  threatening  attitude  brought  an  uncomfortable  silena 


e  demanded,  in  a  voice  heavy  with  anger.     His  hostile  tone, 
pon  the  hearers. 


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struggling  for  expression.  She  did  pity  Wharton,  however, 
for  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  the  injured  party.  When 
he  was  himself  he  was  a  very  decent  fellow,  and  it  was 
a  contemptible  trick  thus  to  cheat  him.  It  would  have 
been  less  ignoble  to  sell  herself  outright  to  a  man  she 
detested — for  the  transaction  would  then  have  been  one 
of  dollars  and  cents,  purely,  a  sacrifice  prompted  by  neces 
sity,  so  she  reasoned — whereas  to  impose  upon  the  weak 
ness  of  one  she  rather  liked  was  not  only  dishonest,  but 
vile. 

But  she  was  in  a  wanton  mood  to-night,  and  of  late  a 
voice  had  been  desperately  urging  her  to  grasp  at  what 
she  could,  that  she  might,  as  long  as  possible,  delay  her 
descent  into  worse  conditions. 

She  heard  Lilas  inquiring:  "When  does  the  marriage 
come  off?  Right  away?" 

Bob,  who  appeared  somewhat  dazed  by  the  suddenness 
and  the  completeness  of  his  good  fortune,  smiled  vacantly. 
"Any  time  suits  me,"  he  said.  "I'm  a  happy  man — little 
Joys  are  capering  all  over  the  place  and  old  Dr.  Gloom 
has  packed  his  grip." 

Jim  startled  them  all  by  saying,  crisply:  "Let's  make 
it  to-night.  I  know  Bob — he's  not  the  sort  to  wait." 

"Fine!  Never  thought  of  that."  Bob  welcomed  the 
suggestion  with  a  delight  that  drowned  Lorelei's  frightened 
protest;  then,  as  the  idea  grew  in  his  mind,  he  joyously 
appropriated  it  as  his  own.  A  mere  proposal  of  marriage 
and  an  acceptance  were  more  or  less  hackneyed;  the 
event  contained  no  elements  of  the  spectacular;  but  to 
follow  it  promptly  with  a  midnight  ceremony  impressed 
him  as  a  grandiose  achievement  and  one  calculated  to 
shed  luster  upon  his  adventurous  career.  "That's  my 
idea  of  romance — that's  the  way  I  like  to  do  things,"  he 
declared.  "We'll  be  married  soon's  I  pay  this  check." 
Fumbling  through  his  pockets,  he  remembered  that  his 
last  dollar  had  gone  across  Melcher's  gaming-table  earlier 

203 


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in  the  evening,  and  cried  in  dismay,  "Hold  on!  Nothing 
doing  in  the  marriage  line,  after  all.  I'm  bust.  Isn't 
that  a  burglar's  luck?  And  right  on  the  altar  steps,  too." 

"I'll  settle  everything — all  the  way  through,"  Jim 
offered,  eagerly. 

Bob  feebly  demurred,  asserting  that  his  temporary 
financial  condition  ruined  the  whole  joke,  and  that  he 
never  married  without  a  pocket  full  of  money;  but  as 
Jim  insisted,  and  seeing  that  Miss  Lynn  was  becoming 
tearful  at  the  thought  of  a  disappointment,  he  yielded 
grudgingly. 

"But — I  say — where  do  they  keep  these  weddings?"  he 
inquired.  "Everything's  closed  now,  and  there's  nobody 
dancing  at  the  City  Hall,  is  there?"  He  appealed  help 
lessly  to  Jim. 

Jim  rose  to  the  occasion  with  the  same  promptitude  he 
had  displayed  throughout.  "Leave  it  to  Jimmy  the 
Fixer,"  he  cried,  reassuringly.  "  Marriages  aren't  made 
in  heaven  any  more — that's  old  stuff.  They're  made  in 
Hoboken,  while  the  cab  waits.  Get  your  things  on, 
everybody,  while  I  telephone."  He  allowed  no  loitering; 
he  waved  the  girls  away,  sent  the  waiter  scurrying  with 
his  bill,  helped  Robert  secure  hat  and  stick,  and  then  dove 
into  a  telephone-booth  as  a  woodchuck  enters  its  hole. 
When  he  had  disposed  his  three  charges  inside  a  taxi-cab 
he  disappeared  briefly,  to  return  with  a  basket  of  cham 
pagne  upon  his  arm.  It  is  a  wise  general  who  provides 
himself  in  advance  with  ammunition. 

It  was  not  late,  as  late  hours  are  computed,  but  the 
streets  were  empty  of  traffic;  hence  the  driver  made  good 
time,  and  a  waiting  ferry  at  the  foot  of  Forty-second 
Street  helped  to  shorten  the  journey.  The  wine-basket 
was  lighter  as  the  machine  rushed  up  the  cobbled  incline 
to  the  crest  of  the  Weehawken  bluffs ;  Bob  and  Lilas  were 
singing  as  it  tore  down  the  Boulevard. 

The  smooth  celerity  with  which  this  whole  adventure 

204 


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ran  its  course  argued  a  thorough  preparation  on  James's 
part,  but  Lorelei  was  in  no  condition  to  analyze.  On  the 
contrary,  she  was  tossed  in  the  vortex  of  warring  impulses. 
More  than  once  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  cab  door, 
feeling  that  she  could  not  go  on  with  this  damnable 
travesty.  But  necessity  urged;  she  was  tired,  disgusted, 
reckless.  Her  former  arguments  continued  to  prove 
potent. 

Even  at  the  journey's  end  there  was  a  suspicious  lack 
of  delay.  The  vehicle  stopped  in  a  narrow  business  street, 
now  dark  and  dismal;  its  occupants  were  hurried  up  a 
stairway  and  into  a  room  filled  with  law-books,  where  a 
sleepy  Justice  of  the  Peace  was  nodding  in  a  cloud  of 
cigar  smoke.  There  followed  a  noisy  shuffling  of  chairs, 
some  mumbled  questions  and  answers,  the  crackle  of 
papers,  a  deal  of  unintelligible  rigamarole,  then  a  man's 
heavy  seal-ring  was  slipped  upon  Lorelei's  finger,  and  she 
knew  herself  to  be  Mrs.  Robert  Wharton.  It  was  all 
confused,  unimpressive,  unreal.  She  was  never  able  fully 
to  recall  the  picture  of  that  room  or  the  events  that 
occurred  there.  They  formed  but  a  part  of  the  kaleido 
scopic  jumble  of  the  night's  occurrences. 

The  wedding  party  was  in  the  cab  once  more,  and  it 
was  under  way.  Lilas  was  singing  maudlinly,  lying  back 
in  Jim's  arms  with  her  feet  projecting  through  a  window; 
the  groom  was  laughing  foolishly  and  pawing  at  his  bride. 
The  street  lights  reeled  by  in  drunken  procession.  Now 
that  his  work  was  done,  Jim  flung  aside  his  caution  and, 
popping  the  cork  of  a  wine-bottle,  drank  deeply,  in  dis 
regard  of  Lilas's  attempts  to  share  the  contents.  He  was 
fiercely  elated;  he  imbibed  with  the  eager  thirst  of  a 
dipsomaniac.  It  was  all  so  like  a  nightmare  that  Lorelei 
began  to  doubt  her  own  sanity. 

Once  at  rest  in  the  dim-lit  tunnel  of  the  ferry-boat, 
however,  she  was  brought  sharply  to  herself  by  hearing 
her  brother  exclaim:  "Say!  He  hasn't  kissed  her  yet." 

205 


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Lilas  shrieked,  and  Bob  stiffened  himself,  then  slipped 
an  arm  around  his  bride.  As  she  shrank  away  he  mum 
bled  angrily:  "Here!  I  won't  stand  for  that,"  and  crushed 
her  to  him.  He  tipped  her  head  back,  then  pressed  his 
lips  to  hers,  and  she  yielded,  her  whole  body  a-quiver  with 
repugnance.  But  it  was  part  of  the  price,  she  told  herself; 
therefore  she  paid,  although  she  was  like  to  faint  with  the 
effort.  She  became  conscious  of  a  sudden  savagery  that 
swept  over  Bob  at  her  first  surrender,  and  in  revulsion 
fought  herself  free  from  his  embrace.  He  followed  her, 
his  eyes  fierce,  his  hot  breath  heavy  with  the  fumes  of 
wine;  his  clutch  hurt  her.  "By  God!"  he  mumbled, 
thickly,  "You  are  beautiful — beautiful.  And  you're  mine. 
She's  mine,  eh?  No  foolishness  about  that,  is  there?" 
he  appealed  to  Jim. 

As  they  drew  in  toward  the  New  York  side  the  chauffeur 
inquired,  "Where  to,  now?" 

"Why,  drive  us — "  Jim  hesitated.  There  was  a  silence 
which  Lilas  broke  with  a  titter.  The  bridegroom  joined 
her  in  an  awkward  laugh. 

"Never  thought  of  that." 

"Drive  to  the  Charlevoix,"  Lorelei  said,  sharply. 

"No  women  allowed  there;  it's  a  stag  place,"  objected 
Bob. 

"Of  course!  We'll  take  you  home.  It's  all  over  now," 
she  told  him,  faintly. 

"You  can't  get  into  no  hotel  without  baggage,"  ex 
plained  the  driver. 

"That's  right.  No  baggage,  no  money.  Deuce  of  a 
way  to  get  married."  Bob  turned  again  to  Jim,  who 
solved  the  difficulty  with  a  word. 

"Why,  you're  both  going  to  Lorelei's  place,  of  course; 
then  you  can  make  your  plans  to-morrow." 

The  bride's  half-strangled  protest  was  lost  in  a  burst  of 
enthusiasm  from  Lilas. 

"Surest  thing  you  know,"  she  cried;  "and  we'll  stop 

206 


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in  my  flat  for  a  farewell  bottle;  I've  got  a  whole  case. 
We'll  end  the  night  with  another  party  at  Jarvis's  expense. 
He's  crazy  about  marriages,  anyhow.  Ha!  But  you 
needn't  tell  him  I  was — full,  understand?"  She  fell  silent 
suddenly,  then  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "Bah!  I  should 
worry!"  Jim  struggled  with  her  as  for  a  second  time 
she  endeavored  to  thrust  her  silken  ankles  through  the 
taxi  window. 

The  ferry  drew  into  its  slip,  the  cab  motor  shivered, 
the  metallic  rattle  of  windlass  and  chain  proclaimed  the 
return  to  Manhattan.  Up  the  deserted  avenues  the  ve 
hicle  sped,  while  inside  the  white-faced  bride  cowered  with 
fingers  locked  and  heart  sick  with  dread. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  ITCHY  KOO  had  gone  home.  When  Lilas  ushered 
11  her  friends  in  and  snapped  on  the  lights,  the  apart 
ment,  save  for  the  delirious  spaniel,  was  unoccupied. 
She  flung  down  her  hat,  coat,  and  gloves,  then,  with  the 
help  of  Jim,  prepared  glasses  and  a  cooler.  Lorelei  was 
restless;  the  thought  of  more  wine,  more  ribaldry,  re 
volted  her,  and  yet  she  was  grateful  for  this  delay,  brief 
though  it  promised  to  be.  Any  interruption,  trivial  or 
tragic,  would  be  welcome.  Meanwhile  her  husband's  eyes 
followed  her  hungrily. 

Strangely  enough,  the  fears  that  had  driven  her  to  this 
reckless  marriage  had  dwindled  steadily  since  the  final 
words  were  spoken,  and  now  these  apprehensions  seemed 
in  no  wise  so  alarming  as  the  consequences  of  her  rash 
act.  She  cringed  at  her  own  thoughts;  they  set  her  to 
shivering;  she  stole  a  glance  at  her  husband  and  was  not 
reassured,  for  he  continued  to  eye  her  with  a  look  she 
did  not  like.  She  was  forced  to  pledge  her  own  happiness 
in  a  glass,  then  in  a  wild  moment  of  desperation  longed  to 
deaden  herself  with  liquor  as  the  others  had  done. 

Jim  and  Lilas  were  talking  loudly  when  a  key  grated 
in  the  lock,  the  door  of  the  little  apartment  opened  and 
clicked  shut  again.  Another  instant  and  Jarvis  Hammon 
paused  on  the  threshold,  glowering. 

Lilas's  wine-glass  shattered  upon  the  floor. 

"Jarvis!    You  frightened  me,"  she  cried. 

"Evening,  Mr.  Hammon."  Bob  lurched  to  his  feet, 
upsetting  his  chair.  "This  is  a  s'prise." 

208 


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Jim  had  risen  likewise,  but  Hammon  had  eyes  for  no 
one  except  Lilas. 

"Ah!  You're  home  again,  finally.  Where  have  you. 
been?"  he  demanded,  in  a  voice  heavy  with  anger.  His. 
hostile  tone,  his  threatening  attitude  brought  an  uncom 
fortable  silence  upon  the  hearers. 

"  Now,  Jarvis,"  said  the  bridegroom,  placatingly,  steady 
ing  himself  meanwhile  with  the  aid  of  the  table,  "don't 
be  a  grouch.  Everything's  all  right." 

Lilas  remained  motionless,  staring  defiantly.  Her  face- 
had  slowly  whitened,  and  now  its  unpleasantness  matched 
that  of  her  elderly  admirer.  Hammon  dropped  his  smol 
dering  gaze  to  the  half-empty  glasses,  then  raised  it,, 
scowling  at  Jim. 

"Humph!    Who  is— this?" 

Lilas  made  her  guest  known.  "Mr.  Knight,  Mr.  Ham 
mon.  I  believe  you  know  Miss  Knight." 

"So  you're  the  one."  Hammon  showed  his  teeth  in  a. 
sardonic  smile. 

"I'm  the  one  what?"  inquired  Jim,  with  a  sickly  attempt 
at  pleasantry. 

"By  God!  What  does  she  see  in  you?"  Hammon. 
measured  the  young  man  with  contemptuous  curiosity. 

"Don't  be  an  ass,  Jarvis,"  began  Lilas.    "I — " 

She  was  interrupted  roughly.  "That's  precisely  what. 
I  don't  intend  to  be;  and  I  don't  intend  that  Bob  shall 
be  one,  either."  He  turned  to  young  Wharton.  "What: 
are  you  doing  here,  my  boy?"  he  asked. 

"Just  stopped  in  for  a  minute.  You'll  find  all  the: 
bric-a-brac  in  its  place." 

"  Now  don't  get  funny.  I'm  sorry  to  see  you  with  these 
grafters."  Hammon  indicated  Jim  and  Lorelei  with  a  nod. 

' '  Eh  ?  What's  that  ?"  Bob  stiffened,  and  Jim  murmured 
an  indignant  protest. 

"You  heard  me.  They're  grafters,  and  you'd  better  cut 
loose  from  them." 

14  2°9 


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"Wait  a  minute.    Lorelei's  my  wife.    'S  true,  Jarvis." 

' '  Wife  ?"  Hammon  took  a  heavy  step  forward.  ' '  Wife  ? 
Hell,  you're  drunk,  Bob!" 

"P'raps.    But  we're  mar — " 

"So!  You  landed  him,  did  you?"  Hammon  glared  at 
the  brother  and  sister.  "You  got  him  drunk  and  married 
him,  eh?  And  Lilas  helped  you,  I  suppose.  Fine!  They're 
crooks,  Bob,  and  they've  made  a  fool  of  you." 

Bob  checked  the  speech  on  Lorelei's  lips  with  an  up 
raised  hand,  then  said  slowly,  with  a  painful  effort  to 
sober  himself:  "You're — mistaken,  Jarvis.  She's  an  hon 
est  girl  and  a  good  one,  too  good  for  me.  You  mus' 
'pologize." 

The  elder  man  breathed  an  oath.  "She's  a  blackmailer, 
and  so  is — this  person.  Oh,  don't  look  hurt,  my  friend." 
He  froze  Jim  with  a  glare.  "Merkle  told  me  how  you 
tried  to  work  your  sister  off  on  him.  When  you  couldn't 
make  that  go  you  grabbed  the  next  best  man,  eh?  It's 
true,  Bob;  she's  a  stalking  horse  for  her  whole  damned 
family." 

Bob  centered  his  eyes  laboriously  upon  the  speaker,  then 
said  distinctly:  "We've  been  good  friends,  Jarvis;  you're 
a  kind  of  an  uncle  to  me,  but — you're  a  liar.  You've 
lied  'bout  my  wife,  so  I  'spose  I've  got  to  lick  you." 
With  a  backward  kick  he  sent  his  overturned  chair  flying, 
then  made  for  Hammon.  But  Jim  seized  him  by  the 
arm;  Lorelei  sprang  in  front  of  him. 

"Mr.  Whar — Bob,"  she  cried.  "You  mustn't — for  my 
sake."  The  three  scuffled  for  an  instant  until  Hammon 
said,  more  quietly: 

"I  couldn't  fight  with  you,  Bob — you're  like  my  own 
son.  But  you've  been  sold  out,  and — and  it  looks  as  if 
I'd  been  sold  out,  too.  Now  go  home  and  sleep.  I  didn't 
come  here  to  quarrel  with  you;  I  have  a  matter  of  my  own 
to  settle."  He  laid  a  hand  on  Bob's  shoulder  in  an  effort 
to  pacify  him,  but  the  young  man's  indignation  flared 

210 


ELAS    remained   motionless,    staring    defiantly.     Her 
face  had  slowly  whitened,  and  now  its   unpleasant 
ness  matched  that  of  her  elderly  admirer. 


THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

into  life  with  drunken  persistence.  It  was  Lorelei  who  at 
last  prevailed  upon  her  husband  to  leave  peaceably,  and 
she  was  about  to  accompany  him  when  Lilas  Lynn 
checked  her. 

During  this  angry  scene  Lilas  had  not  risen  nor  spoken, 
but  had  sat  with  her  elbows  upon  the  table,  her  chin 
resting  upon  her  interlocked  fingers,  obviously  enjoying 
it  all.  Her  eyes  were  very  black  and  very  brilliant  against 
her  pallor,  and  she  was  smiling  derisively. 

"Wait!"  she  interposed.  "I'm  not  going  to  stay  here 
with  this  old — fool." 

Hammon  grew  purple;  he  ground  his  teeth. 

"You  shall  stay.  We're  going  to  have  a  talk  and  settle 
things  once  for  all." 

"See?    He's  going  to  settle  me." 

"Nonsense.    I  mean — " 

"He's  liable  to  harm  me."  Lilas's  words  were  directed 
as  an  appeal  to  the  others,  but  her  eyes  mocked  Hammon. 
"Jim,  dear,  you  won't  leave  me  alone?" 

Jimmy,  not  relishing  in  the  least  this  attempt  to  goad 
the  millionaire,  remained  silent,  but  no  words  from  him 
were  needed. 

"We've  got  to  have  an  understanding,  right  now," 
stormed  Hammon,  "so  clear  'em  out.  Clear  'em  out, 
I  say." 

Lilae  rose  swiftly  with  a  complete  change  of  manner; 
she  was  smiling  no  longer;  her  face  was  sinister. 

"Very  well,"  she  agreed.  "To-night.  Why  not?  But 
I  want  Lorelei  to  stay  and — hear.  Yes." 

"No,  I  don't  want  her." 

"I  do."  Lilas's  bad  temper  flared  up  promptly  from 
the  hot  coals  of  a  spiteful  drunken  stubbornness.  "She'll 
stay  till  you  go,  or  else  I'll  put  you  out  too.  I  don't 
trust  you."  She  laughed  disagreeably. 

"Then  have  your  way.  It's  you  I  want  to  talk  with, 
anyhow,  drunk  as  you  are.  Now,  Bob — will  you  say  good 

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night?"    He  waved  the  two  men  from  the  room,  and  the 
outer  door  closed  behind  them. 

Lorelei  had  little  desire  to  remain  as  the  witness  to  a 
distressing  scene,  but  she  seized  upon  the  delay,  for  even 
a  sordid  lovers'  quarrel  was  preferable  to  the  caresses  of  a 
sodden  bridegroom.  But  daylight  seemed  a  long  way  off — 
she  feared  Bob  would  not  fall  asleep  during  this  brief  respite. 

"Now  come  with  me,  if  you  please."  Hammon  turned 
in  the  direction  of  the  library,  and  Lilas  followed,  pausing 
to  light  a  cigarette  with  a  studied  indifference  that  added 
feul  to  his  rage.  Lorelei  seated  herself  at  the  disordered 
dining- table  and  stared  miserably  at  the  wall. 

"Well?"  said  Hammon,  when  he  and  Lilas  were  alone. 
"Is  this  how  you  live  up  to  your  promises?" 

"How  did  you  know  I  went  out  to-night?"  she  inquired 
in  her  turn. 

"I  had  you  watched.  After  what  happened  last  night 
I  was  suspicious.  I've  been  waiting  for  hours — while  you 
were  out  with  that  grafter,  drinking,  carousing — " 

He  bent  toward  her,  white  with  fury,  but  she  blew  the 
smoke  from  her  cigarette  into  his  face,  and  he  checked 
himself,  staring  at  her  strangely.  For  the  first  time  he 
forgot  his  own  injured  feelings  and  perceived  the  insolent 
defiance  in  her  expression.  It  took  him  aback,  for  in 
all  his  aggressive,  violent  life  of  conquest  no  one  had 
ever  defied  him,  no  one  had  ever  insulted  him  nor  delib 
erately  set  about  rousing  his  ire.  But  Lilas,  he  saw,  was 
doing  so,  and  with  a  purpose.  There  was  more  in  this 
woman's  bearing,  he  decided,  than  reckless  defiance — there 
was  an  intentional  challenge  and  a  threat.  Therefore 
with  an  effort  he  governed  himself,  recoiling  in  surprise. 

She  had  seated  herself  upon  the  edge  of  the  reading- 
table,  one  foot  swinging  idly.  She  watched  him  with  a 
brooding,  insolent  amusement. 

"Are  you  just  drunk,"  he  said,  uncertainly,  "or — have 
you  completely  lost  your  senses?" 

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"Yes,  I'm  drunk,  but  I  know  what  I'm  doing.  I  went 
out  last  night,  and  you  warned  me.  I  went  out  again 
to-night  and —  Oh  yes!  I  helped  marry  your  friend's 
son  to  a  show-girl.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

"I — why,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that;  you're  not  your 
self,  Lilas."  He  ran  his  eyes  over  the  luxurious  little 
room ;  he  wiped  his  face  with  a  shaky  hand,  feeling  that  it 
was  he  who  had  lost  his  senses.  "The  wine  is  talking. 
When  I  asked  you  to  marry  me  I  never  dreamed — " 

"You  never  dreamed  I'd  disobey  you,  eh?  Well,  I 
didn't  intend  to  so  early."  She  laughed  again.  "Now 
I  suppose  you'll  drop  me.  What?" 

"There's  nothing  else  to  do,  if  this —  But  I  can't 
imagine  what  possessed  you." 

She  eyed  him  silently  with  an  expression  he  could  not 
fathom,  then  asked,  "Tell  me,  do  you  really  care  for  me?" 

Jarvis  Hammon  was  a  virile,  headstrong  man ;  his  world 
had  come  suddenly,  inexplicably  to  an  end.  His  voice 
was  hoarse,  as  he  answered: 

"Do  you  think  I'd  have  made  a  fool  of  myself  if  I 
hadn't?  Do  you  think  I'd  have  ruined  myself?" 

"Have  you  ruined  yourself?"  she  interrupted,  quickly. 

"Not  quite,  perhaps;  but  what  I've  lost,  what  I've 
sacrificed,  would  have  ruined  most  men.  My  home  is 
gone,  and  my  family — as  you  know — yes,  and  a  good 
many  other  things  you  don't  know  about.  Financially 
I'm  not  done  for — " 

"That's  too  bad." 

"Eh?" 

She  motioned  him  to  proceed. 

"You've  cost  me  dear  enough,  as  money  goes,  for  you've 
gotten  into  my  brain,  somehow.  I  was  never  foolish  over 
women  until  I  met  you,  but  you  made  me  lose  my  grip  on 
things,  and  indirectly  I  paid  high.  I  didn't  care,  though. 
I  was  glad.  I  wanted  you  at  any  price.  I  tried  to  change 

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the  world  around  to  suit  me,  and — now  you've  spoiled 
it  all." 

"That  blackmail  cost  you  something,  didn't  it?"  He 
.agreed,  carelessly. 

"And  your  wife's  divorce  will  cost  a  lot  more,  won't 
it  ?  You've  squandered  quite  a  fortune  on  me,  too,  haven't 
you?" 

He  was  too  bewildered  by  her  expression  to  do  more 
than  stare. 

"No  woman  could  totally  ruin  you;  you're  too  rich 
for  that,  but  you're  hit  hard  inside,  so  I  guess  the  price 
is  high  enough."  Lilas  nodded  with  satisfaction.  "Thank 
God,  I'm  through,  and  you'll  never  paw  me  over  again!" 

"I  don't  understand.    What  are  you  getting  at?" 

"I'll  tell  you.    I  never  intended  to  marry  you,  Jarvis." 

He  started  as  if  she  had  struck  him. 

"That's  what  I  said,"  she  reaffirmed,  "and  I'll  tell  you 
why.  Look  at  me — close." 

He  did  as  she  directed,  but  saw  nothing,  his  mind  being 
in  chaos.  It  had  been  her  intention  to  call  Lorelei  to  wit 
ness  this  dramatic  disclosure  and  thus  enhance  its  effect, 
but  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  she  forgot.  "Look 
at  me,"  she  repeated.  "I'm  Lily  Levinski." 

"Levinski.    A  Jew?"  he  exclaimed,  in  naive  surprise. 

"Yes.    I'm  Joe  Levinski's  girl.    Don't  you  remember?" 

Many  times  she  had  rehearsed  this  declaration,  pictur 
ing  the  consternation,  the  dawning  horror  it  would  cause, 
and  deriving  a  fierce,  quivering  pleasure  from  the  antici 
pation,  but  the  real  effect  was  disappointing.  Hammon 
only  blinked  stupidly,  repeating: 

"A  Jew!"    It  was  plain  that  the  name  meant  nothing. 

She  slid  down  from  her  perch  and  approached  him, 
crying  roughly,  "Don't  you  remember  Joe  Levinski?" 
Hammon  shook  his  head.  "He  worked  for  you  in  the 
Bessemer  plant  of  the  old  Kingman  mill.  Don't  you 
remember?" 

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"There  were  four  thousand  men — " 

"He  was  killed  when  the  converter  dumped.  You  were 
rushing  the  work.  Do  you  remember  now?"  Her  words 
came  swift  and  shrill. 

Hammon  started;  a  frown  drew  his  brows  together. 
His  mind  groped  back  through  the  years  and  memory 
faintly  stirred,  but  she  gave  him  no  leisure  to  speak. 

"I  was  waiting  outside  with  his  dinner-bucket,  along 
with  the  other  women.  I  saw  him  go.  I  saw  you  kill 
him—" 

" Lilas!     Good  God,  are  you  crazy?"  he  burst  forth. 

"It  was  murder." 

"Murder?" 

"It  was.  You  did  it.  You  killed  him."  She  had 
dropped  her  cigarette,  and  it  burned  a  black  scar  into  the 
rug  at  their  feet.  Hammon  retreated  a  step,  the  girl 
followed  with  blazing  eyes  and  words  that  were  hot  with 
hate.  "You  spilled  that  melted  steel  on  him,  and  I  saw 
it  all.  When  I  grew  up  I  prayed  for  a  chance  to  get  even, 
for  his  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  the  other  hunkies  you 
killed.  You  killed  my  mother,  too,  Jarvis  Hammon,  and 
made  me  a — a —  You  made  me  hustle  my  living  in  the 
streets,  and  go  through  hell  to  get  it." 

"Be  quiet!"  he  commanded,  roughly.  "The  thing's 
incredible — absurd.  You — the  daughter  of  one  of  my 
workmen — and  a  Jew!" 

"Yes.  Levinski — Lily  Levinski.  And  you  wanted  to 
marry  me,"  she  gibed.  "But  I  fooled  you." 

"I  guess  I — must  be — out  of  my  head.  I  never  knew 
the  man — there  were  thousands  of  them;  accidents  were 
common.  But — you  say — "  He  gathered  his  whirling 
thoughts,  and,  strangely  enough,  grew  calm.  "You  say 
you  prayed  for  a  chance  to  get  even —  So,  then,  you've 
been  humbugging —  By  God,  I  don't  believe  it!" 

"It's  true.  It's  true.  It's  true,"  shrilled  the  girl  so 
hysterically  that  her  voice  roused  Lorelei,  sitting  vacant- 

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eyed  in  the  room  down  the  hall,  and  brought  her  to  her 
feet  with  ears  suddenly  strained.  Lorelei  could  hear  only 
a  part  of  the  words  that  followed,  but  the  tones  of  the 
two  voices  drew  her  from  her  retreat  and  toward  the 
front  of  the  apartment. 

"I  went  through  the  gutter,  I  was  a  girl  of  the  streets," 
Lilas  was  saying.  "Oh,  you're  not  the  first —  At  last 
I  got  on  the  stage  and  then — you  came.  I  knew  you;  I 
thought  I'd  die  when  you  first  touched  me — then  I 
figured  it  all  out,  and — you  were  easy." 

"Go  on,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"You  were  a  bigger  fool  than  I  dreamed,  but  you  were 
old  and  you  didn't  know  women.  I  knew  men,  though — 
old  men  especially." 

"You  took  my  money — you  let  me  support  you!"  cried 
Hammon,  in  bitter  accusation. 

"Oh,  I  did  more  than  that.  I  planned  everything  that 
has  happened  to  you,  even  that  blackmail." 

"Blackmail!"  he  shouted.  "Did  you — was  that 
your — ?"  He  grew  suddenly  apoplectic;  his  eyes  dis 
tended  and  reddened  with  rage. 

His  dismay  delighted  her. 

"Certainly,"  she  smiled.  "Half  the  money  is  in  my 
bank  at  this  minute — besides  all  the  rest  you've  given  me. 
Oh,  I've  got  enough  to  live  on  without  marrying  you. 
Who  do  you  think  put  your  wife  wise  and  gave  her  the 
evidence  for  her  divorce,  eh?  Think  it  over." 

As  she  watched  the  effect  of  her  words  Lilas  felt  that 
her  satisfaction  was  now  complete;  the  man's  slack  jaw, 
his  staring,  bloodshot  eyes  convinced  her  that  this  mo 
ment  was  all  that  she  had  wished  it  to  be. 

"You'll  settle  with  her  for  a  million,  and  then  you'll 
settle  with  me  for  this."  She  indicated  the  elaborate 
apartment  with  a  gesture.  "You  think  this  ends  our 
affair,  don't  you?  Well,  it  doesn't.  Oh  no!  You  can't 
cast  me  off.  I'll  drag  you  through  the  gutter  where  you 

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sent  me,  and  you'll  either  marry  me  or — the  courts  and 
the  newspapers  will  get  all  your  letters.  You  can't  buy 
them — the  letters.  I'm  rich,  understand?  Do  you  re 
member  those  letters?  You  were  very  indiscreet — and — 
do  you  want  me  to  quote  them?  The  less  said,  the  better, 
perhaps.  Your  wife  will  read  them  and  your  daughters — " 

Jarvis  Hammon  roused  himself  at  last.  Surprise,  in 
credulity,  dismay  gave  place  to  fury,  and,  as  in  all  primi 
tive  natures,  his  wrath  took  shape  as  an  impulse  to  destroy. 

"You'll — do  that — eh?"  His  tone,  his  bearing  were 
threatening.  He  advanced  as  if  to  seize  her  in  his  great 
hands,  and  only  her  quickness  saved  her. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  Her  voice  ended  in  a  little  shriek 
as  she  evaded  a  second  effort  to  grasp  her,  and  placed  the 
table  between  them.  "What  do  you — mean?" 

But  it  seemed  that  she  had  done  her  work  too  well,  for 
his  answer  was  like  the  growl  of  a  hungry  beast.  His  eyes 
roved  over  the  table  for  a  weapon,  and,  reading  his  insane 
purpose,  she  cried  again : 

"  Don't  do  that.    I  warn  you — " 

The  nearest  object  chanced  to  be  a  crystal  globe  in 
which  was  set  a  tiny  French  clock — one  of  those  library 
ornaments  serving  as  timepiece  and  paperweight — over 
this  his  hand  closed;  he  moved  toward  her. 

"Put  that  down,"  she  cried.  He  did  not  pause.  "Put 
it — "  She  wrenched  at  the  table  drawer  and  fumbled 
for  something.  Hammon  uttered  a  bellow  and  leaped 
at  her. 

It  was  a  tiny  revolver,  small  enough  to  fit  into  a  man's 
vest  pocket  or  a  woman's  purse,  but  its  report  echoed 
loudly.  The  noise  came  like  a  cannon-shot  to  the  girl 
in  the  hall  outside  and  brought  a  cry  to  her  lips.  Lorelei 
flung  herself  against  the  library  door. 

What  she  saw  reassured  her  momentarily,  for,  although 
Lilas  was  at  bay  against  a  book-case,  Hammon  was  rooted 
in  his  tracks.  A  strange,  almost  ludicrous  expression  of 

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surprise  was  on  his  face;  he  was  staring  down  at  his 
breast;  the  revolver  lay  on  the  floor  between  him  and 
Lilas. 

Lorelei  gasped  an  incoherent  question,  but  neither  of 
the  two  who  faced  each  other  appeared  to  hear  it  or  to 
notice  her  presence  in  the  room. 

"I  told  you  to — keep  off,"  Lilas  chattered.  Her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  Hamrnon,  but  her  outflung  arms  were 
pressed  against  the  support  at  her  back  as  if  she  felt 
herself  growing  weak.  "You  did  it — yourself.  I  warned 
you." 

The  man  merely  remained  motionless,  staring.  But 
there  was  something  shocking  in  the  paralysis  that  held 
him  and  fixed  his  face  in  that  distorted  mold  of  speechless 
amazement.  Finally  he  stirred ;  one  hand  crept  inside  his 
waistcoat,  then  came  away  red;  he  turned,  walked  to  a 
chair,  and  half  fell  upon  it.  Then  he  saw  Lorelei's  face, 
and  her  agonized  question  took  shape  out  of  the  whirling 
chaos  in  his  mind. 

"Where's  Bob?"  he  said,  faintly.    "Call  him,  please." 

"You're — hurt.  I'll  telephone  for  a  doctor;  there's 
one  in  the  house,  and — and  the  police,  too."  Lorelei 
voiced  her  first  impulse,  then  shrilly  appealed  to  Lilas  to 
do  something.  But  Lilas  remained  petrified  in  her  attitude 
of  retreat;  from  the  pallor  that  was  whitening  her  cheeks 
now  it  might  have  been  she  who  was  in  danger  of  death. 

"Don't  telephone,"  said  Hammon,  huskily.  "You 
must  do  just  as  I  say,  understand?  This  mustn't  get 
out,  do  you  hear?  I'm  not — hurt.  I'm  all  right,  but — 
fetch  Bob.  Don't  let  him  call  a  doctor,  either,  until  I — 
get  home.  Now  hurry — please." 

Lorelei  rushed  to  the  outside  door,  restraining  with 
difficulty  a  wild  impulse  to  run  screaming  through  the 
hall  of  the  apartment  building  and  so  arouse  the  other 
tenants.  But  the  wounded  man's  instructions  had  been 
terse  and  forceful,  therefore  she  held  herself  in  check. 

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Fortunately,  the  hall-man  was  not  at  his  post,  or  without 
doubt  he  would  have  read  tragedy  in  her  demeanor.  With 
skirts  gathered  high  and  breath  sobbing  in  her  throat,  the 
girl  fled  up  the  stair  to  her  own  door,  where  she  clung, 
ringing  the  bell  frantically. 

She  could  hear  Bob's— her  husband's  voice  inside, 
raised  in  the  best  of  humor.  Evidently  he  was  telephoning. 

"Yes.  Two  hours  ago,  I  tell  you.  With  book,  bell, 
and  candle.  Sure,  I'm  happy — couldn't  be  otherwise,  for 
I'm  drunk  and  married.  I  knew  you'd  be  glad.  What? 
No;  glad  because  I'm  married." 

Jim's  footsteps  sounded,  his  hand  opened  the  door, 
then  his  arm  flew  out  to  his  sister's  support  as  she  stag 
gered  in. 

"Sis!    What  the  devil?"  he  cried,  aghast  at  sight  of  her. 

' '  Something — dreadful . ' ' 

Bob  continued  his  cheerful  colloquy  over  the  wire. 
"Just  got  in  from  your  nightly  joy-ride,  eh?  Lucky  I 
caught  you.  Say!  Here  she  is  now.  We'll  expect  a 
marble  clock  with  gilt  cupids  from  you,  Merkle —  Want 
to  say  hello?"  He  lurched  aside  from  the  telephone  as 
Lorelei  snatched  the  receiver  from  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Merkle,"  she  cried. 

"Hello!  Yes.  Is  that  you?"  came  Merkle's  steady 
voice. 

"Come  quick — quick." 

"What's  wrong?"  he  demanded,  with  a  sharp  change  of 
tone.  "Has  Bob — ?" 

"No,  no.  It's  Mr.  Hammon.  He's  down-stairs  with — 
Lilas,  and  he's  hurt — shot.  I — I'm  frightened." 

She  turned  to  find  Bob  and  Jim  staring  at  her. 

"Come,"  she  gasped.     "I  think  he's — dying." 

She  led  the  way  swiftly,  and  they  followed. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MERKLE  found  his  chauffeur  just  closing  the  garage 
door,  and  three  minutes  later  his  car  was  sweeping 
westward  through  the  Park  like  the  shadow  of  some  flying 
bird.  The  vagueness,  the  brevity  of  the  message  that  had 
come  to  him  out  of  the  night  made  it  terribly  alarming. 
Hammon  of  all  men !  And  at  this  time !  Merkle's  mind 
leaped  to  the  consequences  of  the  catastrophe,  if  catas 
trophe  it  proved.  He  remembered  the  issues  raised  by 
the  sudden  death  of  another  associate — also  a  man  of 
standing  and  the  head  of  a  great  industrial  combination — 
and  the  avalanche  of  misfortune  that  it  had  started.  In 
that  case  death  had  been  attributed  to  apoplexy,  but 
when  the  truth  leaked  out  it  had  created  a  terrible  scandal. 
Fortunately,  that  man's  business  affairs  had  been  well 
ordered,  and,  although  his  family  had  been  ruined,  his 
institutions  had  managed  to  survive  the  blow.  But  Jarvis 
Hammon's  financial  interests  were  in  no  condition  to  with 
stand  a  shock;  for  a  long  time  many  of  them  had  been 
under  fire.  He  had  committed  his  associates  to  a  program 
of  commercial  expansion,  never  too  secure  even  under 
favorable  conditions,  and  one,  moreover,  which  had  pro 
voked  a  tremendous  assault  from  rival  steel  manufac 
turers.  Now,  with  Hammon  himself  stricken  at  the  crisis 
of  the  struggle,  there  was  no  telling  what  results  might 
follow. 

But  Merkle's  apprehensions  were  by  no  means  as 
purely  selfish  as  his  immediate  train  of  thought  might 
imply;  nor  were  they  by  any  means  confined  to  the 

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probable  cost  in  dollars  and  cents  of  his  associate's  death. 
Hammon  and  he  had  been  friends  for  many  years;  they 
shared  a  mutual  respect  and  affection,  and,  although  Mer- 
kle  was  eminently  practical  and  unemotional,  he  prayed 
now  as  best  he  could  that  this  alarm  might  be  false, 
and  that  Hammon  might  not  be  grievously  injured. 
Meanwhile  he  wedged  himself  into  the  cushions  of  the 
reeling  car  and  urged  his  driver  to  more  speed. 

As  the  machine  drew  up  to  the  Elegancia,  Jimmy  Knight 
leaped  to  the  running-board  and  said  hurriedly: 

"Send  your  driver  away." 

Merkle  did  as  he  was  directed,  realizing  his  worst  fears. 
When  he  and  Jim  stood  alone  on  the  walk  he  inquired 
weakly,  "Is  he— dead?" 

Jim  shook  his  head,  and  Merkle  saw  that  he  was  deeply 
agitated.  "No.  But  he's  got  a  bullet  in  his  chest." 

"Did  she — did  that  woman — ?"  Merkle  laid  a  bony 
hand  upon  Jim's  arm,  and  his  fingers  clutched  like  claws. 

"I — don't  know.  He  says  he  did  it  himself,  and  she 
won't  talk.  He  declares  it's  only  a  scratch,  and  won't  let 
us  telephone  for  a  doctor  or  for  an  ambulance.  He's  afraid 
of  the  police  and — he's  waiting  for  you." 

Merkle  hurried  toward  the  entrance,  but  Jim  halted 
him,  and  by  the  light  from  within  it  was  plain  that  the 
latter  was  fairly  palsied  with  fright.  "For  God's  sake  be 
careful!  D-don't  let  the  hall-man  suspect.  Lorelei  was 
with  'em  when  it  happened,  and  if  it's — murder  she'll  be 
in  it.  Understand  ?  She  says  she  didn't  see  it,  but  she  was 
there." 

Together  the  men  entered  the  building  and  at  the  first 
ring  were  admitted  to  Apartment  Number  One  by  Lorelei 
herself.  She  led  them  straight  into  the  library. 

Perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed  since  the 
shooting,  but  Jarvis  Hammon  still  sat  in  the  big  chair. 
He  was  breathing  quietly.  Bob  Wharton  stood  beside 
him. 

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"John!"  The  iron-master  smiled  pallidly  as  his  friend 
came  and  knelt  beside  him.  "You  got  here  quickly." 

"Are  you  badly  hurt,  Jarvis?" 

"The  damned  thing  is  in  here  somewhere."  Hammon 
took  his  hand  away  from  his  breast,  and  Merkle  saw  that 
the  fingers  were  bloody.  "Can  you  get  me  out  of  here 
quietly?" 

John  Merkle  rose  to  his  full  height,  his  lips  writhed  back 
from  his  teeth.  Harshly  he  inquired:  "Where  is  that 
woman?" 

"She's  back  yonder,  in  her  room,"  Bob  told  him. 
"She's  ill." 

Merkle  turned,  but,  reading  his  intent,  Hammon 
checked  him,  crying  in  a  strong  voice:  "None  of  that, 
John.  I  did  it  myself.  It  was  an — accident." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

Hammon's  eyes  met  those  of  his  accuser;  the  two 
stared  at  each  other  steadily  for  a  moment. 

"It's  true." 

Merkle  took  a  step  and  stooped  for  the  revolver  which 
had  lain  unnoticed  until  this  moment.  He  held  it  in  his 
hand. 

"This  isn't  your  gun,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"No.  It's  hers.  We  had  a  quarrel.  I —  She  intended 
to  use  it  on  herself.  We  fought  for  it — and  in  the  struggle 
I  set  it  off." 

The  other  occupants  of  the  room  had  listened  breath 
lessly;  now  Lorelei  stirred  and  Merkle  read  more  than 
mere  bewilderment  in  her  face.  He  opened  his  lips,  but  the 
wounded  man  -did  not  wait  for  him  to  speak. 

"You  must  believe  me!"  he  said,  earnestly.  "It's  the 
truth,  and  I  won't  have  Lilas  involved — we've  been  a 
great  deal  to  each  other.  To-night — I  accused  her  wrong 
fully.  It  was  all  my  fault — I'm  to  blame  for  everything." 
There  was  a  pause.  "I  ruined  her — you  understand?  I 
won't  allow  any  scandal.  Now  get  me  out  of  here  as 

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quietly  and  as  quickly  as  you  can.  I'm  really  not  hurt 
much.  Come,  come !  There's  nobody  home  except  Orson 
and  some  of  the  kitchen  help,  and  Orson  is  all  right — the- 
women  are  gone,  you  know.  He'll  get  a  doctor.  It's  a — 
bad  business,  of  course,  but  I've  thought  it  all  out,  and 
you  must  do  exactly  as  I  say." 

The  effort  of  this  long  speech  told  on  the  sufferer. 

Sweat  beaded  his  face ;  nevertheless,  his  jaws  remained 
firmly  set;  his  glance  was  purposeful,  his  big  hands  were- 
gripped  tightly  over  the  arms  of  his  chair.  There  was. 
something  superb,  something  terrible  about  his  unchanging, 
grimness. 

Lorelei  spoke  timidly,  for  the  first  time.  "  But — the  law,. 
Mr.  Merkle?  The  police—?" 

"To  hell  with  the  law!"  Jim  burst  out,  nervously. 
"D'you  want  to  go  to  court?  D'you  want  to  be  up  for 
murder?  Lilas  would  saddle  it  onto  you  to  save  herself." 

"Murder?"  echoed  Bob,  with  a  start.    "Jove!" 

Jarvis  Hammon  cried  furiously:  "Don't  be  fools. 
There's  no  murder  about  it.  I  told  you  I  shot  myself' 
accidentally.  I'm  not  going  to  die." 

"You  can't — you  mustn't,"  Merkle  gravely  agreed. 

"Is  your  car  outside,  John?" 

Merkle  shook  his  head.  He  was  thinking  swiftly.  "I" 
wouldn't  dare  risk  that,  anyhow.  The  driver  is  a  new- 
man." 

"Get  a  cab,"  Jim  offered,  in  a  panic. 

"The  cab-driver  would  be  sure  to — " 

"I'll  drive,"  Bob  volunteered.  "I'm  drunk,  but  I've: 
done  it  before  when  I  was  drunker.  It's  an  old  trick: 
of  mine — sort  of  a  joke,  see?  Give  me  some  money — a. 
cabby  '11  do  anything  for  money  at  this  time  o'  night." 

Merkle  eyed  the  speaker  in  momentary  doubt,  then, 
handed  him  a  roll  of  bank-notes.    "  It's  a  serious  business, 
Bob,  but — this  is  worse,  and  we've  no  time  to  lose — Jarvis, 
can't  stay  here.    There's  somebody  else  to  consider  besides, 
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us  and — Miss  Lynn.  I'm  thinking  about  Mrs.  Hammon 
and  the  girls."  Hammon  groaned.  "But  we  mustn't 
leave  a  trail,  understand?  Now  go  quickly,  and — do  the 
best  you  can."  He  followed  Bob  to  the  door  and  let  him 
out.  Instead  of  returning  to  the  library,  however,  Merkle 
stepped  swiftly  down  the  hall,  then,  without  knocking, 
opened  the  door  to  Lilas  Lynn's  bedroom  and  entered. 

Lilas  was  busied  at  her  dressing-table;  an  open  travel 
ing-bag  jammed  with  articles  of  wearing-apparel  stood 
on  the  bed.  At  his  entrance  she  uttered  a  frightened  cry 
and  a  silver  spoon  slipped  from  her  nerveless  fingers. 
Merkle  saw  also  a  little  open  box  with  several  compart 
ments,  a  glass  of  water,  the  cap  of  a  pearl-and-gold  foun 
tain-pen,  but  took  scant  notice  of  them,  being  too  deeply 
stirred  and  too  much  surprised  at  her  appearance.  She 
was  no  longer  the  vital,  dashing  girl  he  had  known,  but 
a  pallid,  cringing  wreck  of  a  woman.  She  shrank  back  at 
sight  of  him,  babbling  unintelligible  words  and  cowering 
as  if  expecting  a  blow. 

"Did  you  shoot  him?"  he  asked,  grimly. 

Shivering,  choking,  speechless,  Lilas  stared  at  him. 
Her  hair  was  disarranged;  it  hung  in  wisps  and  strings 
over  her  neck  and  brow;  her  eyes  were  dull  and  distended, 
like  those  of  a  person  just  recovering  from  the  effects  of  an 
anesthetic.  It  was  doubtful  if  she  even  recognized  him. 
A  repetition  of  his  question  brought  no  reply. 

Seizing  her  roughly,  he  shook  her,  muttering  savagely: 

"If  I  were  sure,  by  God,  I'd  strangle  you!" 

She  remained  limp;  her  expressionless  stare  did  not 
change. 

Merkle  heard  a  stir  behind  him  and  found  Jimmy 
Knight's  blanched  face  peering  in  at  him.  Even  fright 
could  not  entirely  rob  the  younger  man's  features  of  their 
sly  inquisitiveness. 

"Mr.  Hammon's  calling  you,"  said  Jim,  then  blinked  at 
the  wretchedly  disheveled  woman. 

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"  Here !"  Merkle  beckoned  him  with  a  jerk  of  his  head. 
"  This  girl  must  get  away  from  here.  She'll  ruin  everything 
in  her  condition.  Try  to  put  her  in  some  kind  of  shape 
while  Lorelei  packs  her  bag.  We  had  better  get  her  out 
of  the  country  if  we  can." 

Jim's  quick  eyes  took  in  the  articles  on  the  dressing- 
table.  "Ha!  Dope,"  he  exclaimed.  "She's  a  coker — 
she's  filled  herself  up.  But,  say — you  don't  really  think 
she — did  it,  do  you?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  It's  just  as  bad,  either 
way.  Hammon's  wife  and  daughters  must  never  know. 
Now,  quick.  See  what  you  can  do  with  her." 

Merkle  returned  to  the  library,  sent  Lorelei  in  to  her 
brother's  assistance,  then  scanned  his  friend's  face  anx 
iously.  But  Hammon  had  not  moved;  the  sweat  still 
stood  upon  his  lips  and  forehead,  his  jaws  were  still  set 
like  stone. 

"No  scandal,  John,"  he  exclaimed.  "No  scandal — 
whatever  happens — on  account  of  my  girls." 

"You're  worse  hit  than  you'll  admit,"  Merkle  said, 
gently. 

"No,  no.  I'm  all  right.  I'm  not  even  suffering."  His 
pallor  belied  his  words,  but  he  went  on  with  even  better 
self-control  than  Merkle's:  "There's  paper  and  ink  yon 
der.  Take  these  notes,  will  you?  Things  are  in  bad  shape 
on  the  Street,  and — you  never  can  tell  what  may  happen, 
so  we'd  better  play  safe." 

Merkle  seated  himself  and  took  the  wounded  man's 
dictation  as  best  he  could;  but  his  hand  shook  badly. 

From  down  the  hall  came  hysterical  meanings  as  Lilas 
Lynn  struggled  in  a  drugged  and  drunken  breakdown. 

The  moments  dragged  interminably. 

Several  months  before,  Bob  Wharton  during  one  of  his 
hilarious  moments  had  conceived  the  brilliant  notion  of 
hiring  a  four-wheeler  and  driving  a  convivial  party  of 
friends  from  place  to  place.  The  success  of  his  exploit  had 

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been  so  gratifying  that  he  had  repeated  the  performance, 
but  he  was  in  a  far  different  mood  now  as  he  left  the 
Elegancia.  The  shock  of  Lorelei's  announcement,  the 
sight  of  his  stricken  friend,  had  sobered  him  considerably, 
yet  he  was  not  himself  by  any  means.  At  one  moment 
he  saw  and  reasoned  clearly,  at  the  next  his  intoxication 
benumbed  his  senses  and  distorted  his  mental  vision. 
These  periods  alternated  with  some  regularity,  as  if  the 
wine-fumes  rose  in  waves;  but  he  centered  his  attention 
upon  the  task  ahead  of  him  and  hastened  his  sluggish 
limbs. 

One  word — "murder" — stuck  in  his  memory;  it  kept 
repeating  itself.  He  remembered  Jimmy  Knight's  sen 
tence  directed  at  Lorelei.  "D'you  want  to  go  to  court?" 

Lorelei  was  his  wife,  Bob  reflected,  dizzily — quite  clearly 
he  remembered  marrying  her.  It  was  plainly  as  necessary, 
therefore,  to  shield  her  as  to  remove  Jarvis  Hammon  and 
smother  this  accident.  Or  was  it  an  accident,  after  all? 
Perhaps  Lilas  had  shot  the  fellow.  If  that  were  true, 
then  she  ought  to  be  arrested — certainly.  But  somebody 
had  said,  "She'll  saddle  it  onto  Lorelei  to  save  herself." 
After  all,  it  couldn't  be  murder,  for  hadn't  Hammon  said 
that  he  shot  himself  ?  Bob  decided  there  could  be  no  such 
need  for  haste,  now  that  the  truth  was  known,  so  he  slack 
ened  his  zigzag  progress.  If  nobody  had  been  murdered, 
why  hire  a  cab  at  all  ?  Then  he  began  to  run  again,  remem 
bering  that  Hammon  needed  a  doctor.  This  was  a  fine 
wedding  night,  indeed.  For  once  in  his  life  he  wished 
himself  sober. 

Broadway,  that  pulsating  artery  of  New  York  life,  was 
still  flowing  a  thin  stream  of  traffic  despite  the  lateness  of 
the  hour,  and  Bob's  mind  had  become  clearer  by  the  time 
he  reached  it. 

He  signaled  to  the  first  horse-drawn  vehicle  that  passed, 
but  it  was  occupied,  and  the  driver  paid  no  heed  to  his 
call.  Several  taxi-cabs  whirled  past,  both  north  and  south 

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bound,  but  he  knew  better  than  to  hire  them,  so  he  waited 
as  patiently  as  he  could  while  those  billows  of  intoxication 
continued  to  ebb  and  flow  through  his  brain,  robbing  him 
of  that  careful  judgment  which  he  fought  to  retain. 

At  last  the  clop-clop-clop  of  a  horse's  hoofs  sounded  close 
by,  and  an  unshaven  man  in  an  ancient  high  hat  steered 
a  four-wheeler  to  the  curb,  barking:  "Keb,  keb!" 

Bob  lurched  forward  and  laid  a  hand  upon  the  driver's 
knee.  "Very  man  I'm  lookin'  for."  The  hiccup  that  fol 
lowed  was  by  no  means  intentional. 

"Yes,  sir.    Where  to,  sir?" 

But  Bob  shook  his  head  vigorously  and  waved  a  com 
prehensive  gesture  toward  the  west.  "Got  a  party  of  my 
own  back  yonder — everybody  soused  but  me — under 
stand?  I'm  the  only  sober  one,  so  I'm  goin'  to  drive  'em 
home,  see?  How  much?" 

"How  much  for  what?"  demanded  the  cabman. 

"For  the  cab — one  hour.    I'll  bring  it  back." 

"Nothin'  doin'!    I'll  take  you  where  you  want  to  go." 

"Sorry.  Mus'  have  my  little  joke,  no  matter  what  it 
costs.  Next  cabby  '11  do  it." 

Nothing  except  Bob's  personal  appearance  prevented 
the  driver  from  whipping  up  without  more  ado,  but  a 
shiny  top-hat,  an  immaculate  expanse  of  shirt-bosom,  and 
silken  waistcoat,  especially  when  linked  with  a  spend 
thrift  air,  command  respect  from  the  cab-driving  brother 
hood.  The  night  was  old — and  these  jokers  sometimes  pay 
well,  the  man  reflected. 

"How'd  I  know  you'd  bring  it  back?"  he  inquired. 

"Matter  of  honor  with  me.  I'll  be  back  in  no  time. 
Will  ten  dollars  be  right?" 

"Hop  in,  Mister.  I'll  drive  you  an'  your  friends  to 
Philadelphy  for  ten  dollars,"  the  cabby  offered,  invitingly. 

But  Bob  was  obdurate.  "I'll  make  it  fifteen,  and  you 
can  lend  me  your  coat  and  hat.  We'll  exchange — have  to, 
or  no  joke.  Is  it  a  go?" 

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The  offer  was  tempting,  but  the  driver  cannily  de 
manded  Wharton's  name  and  address  before  committing 
himself.  The  card  that  Bob  handed  him  put  an  end  to  the 
parley;  he  wheeled  into  the  side-street  and  removed  his 
long  nickel-buttoned  coat  and  his  battered  tile,  taking 
Bob's  broadcloth  garment  and  well-blocked  hat  in  return. 

"First  one  o'  these  I  ever  had  on,"  he  chuckled.  "  But 
it's  a  bit  cool  for  shirt-sleeves,  ain't  it?  Mind  now,  if 
you  get  lost  give  the  horse  his  head  and  he'll  find  the 
stable,  but  don't  run  'im.  If  you  ain't  back  in  an  hour 
I'll  know  you've  got  a  puncture.  Ha!  In  the  mornin' 
I'll  take  these  glad  rags  to  Charley  Voice's  hotel,  eh?" 

"Right!  The  Charlevoix.  But  I'll  be  back."  Bob 
drove  away  with  a  parting  flourish  of  his  whip. 

The  elevator  was  in  its  place,  the  hall-man  was  dozing, 
with  heels  propped  upon  the  telephone  switchboard,  when 
Wharton  entered  the  Elegancia  and  rang  the  bell  of  Lilas 
Lynn's  apartment ;  but  a  careless  glimpse  of  the  glittering 
buttons  and  the  rusty  hat  sent  the  attendant  back  into 
his  drowse. 

Once  Bob  had  gained  admittance  little  time  was  wasted. 
He  and  Merkle  helped  Hammon  to  his  feet,  then  each 
took  an  arm;  but  the  exertion  told,  and  Jarvis  hung 
between  them  like  a  drunken  man,  a  gray  look  of  death 
upon  his  face. 

"Watch  out  for  the  door-man,"  Jimmy  Knight  cau 
tioned  for  the  twentieth  time.  "Make  him  think  you've 
got  a  souse." 

"Aren't  you  coming  along?"  asked  Bob. 

But  Jim  recoiled.  "Me?  No.  I'll  stay  and  help  Lilas 
make  her  get-away." 

Merkle  nodded  agreement.  "Don't  let  her  get  out  of 
your  sight,  either,  understand?  There's  a  ship  sailing 
in  the  morning.  See  that  she's  aboard." 

Jarvis  Hammon  spoke.  "I  want  you  all  to  know  that 
I'm  entirely  to  blame  and  that  I  did  this  myself.  Lilas 

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is  a — good  girl."  The  words  came  laboriously,  but  his 
heavy  brows  were  drawn  down,  his  jaw  was  square. 
"I  was  clumsy.  I  might  have  killed  her.  But  she's  all 
right,  and  I'll  be  all  right,  too,  when  I  get  a  doctor.  Now 
put  that  pistol  in  my  pocket,  John.  Do  as  I  say.  There ! 
Now  I'm  ready." 

The  hall-man  of  the  Elegancia  was  somewhat  amused 
at  sight  of  the  three  figures  that  emerged  from  Miss 
Lynn's  apartment,  and  surmised  that  there  had  been  a 
gay  time  within,  judging  from  the  condition  of  the  old 
man  in  the  center.  Theatrical  people  were  a  giddy  lot, 
anyhow.  Since  there  was  no  likelihood  of  a  tip  from  one 
so  deeply  in  his  cups,  the  attendant  did  not  trouble  to 
lend  a  hand,  but  raised  his  heels  to  the  switchboard  and 
dozed  off  again. 

Bob  Wharton  mounted  the  box  and  drove  eastward 
across  Broadway,  through  the  gloomy  block  to  Columbus 
Avenue  and  on  to  Central  Park  West,  the  clop-clop- 
clop  of  the  horse's  feet  echoing  lonesomely  in  the  empty 
street.  At  Sixty-seventh  Street  he  wheeled  into  the 
sunken  causeway  that  links  the  East  and  West  sides. 

Once  in  the  shadows,  Merkle  leaned  from  the  door, 
crying  softly,  "Faster!  Faster!" 

Bob  whipped  up,  the  horse  cantered,  the  cab  reeled 
and  bounced  over  the  cobblestones,  rocking  the  wounded 
man  pitifully. 

To  John  Merkle  the  ride  was  terrible,  with  a  drunkard 
at  the  reins  and  in  his  own  arms  a  perhaps  fatally  injured 
man,  who,  despite  the  tortures  of  that  bumping  carriage, 
interspersed  his  groans  with  cries  of  "Hurry,  Hurry!" 
But,  while  Merkle  was  appalled  at  the  situation  and  its 
possible  consequences,  he  felt,  nevertheless,  that  Ham- 
mon  had  acted  in  quite  the  proper  way.  In  fact,  for  a 
manly  man  there  had  been  no  alternative,  regardless  of 
who  had  fired  the  shot.  It  was  quite  like  Jarvis  to  do  the 
generous,  even  the  heroic,  thing  when  least  expected- 

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^Whatever  Hammon  might  have  been,  he  was  in  the  last 
•analysis  all  man,  and  Merkle  admired  his  courage.  He 
was  glad  that  Hammon  had  thought  of  those  three  women 
who  bore  his  name,  even  if  they  bore  him  no  love,  and  he 
took  courage  from  his  friend's  plucky  self-control.  Per 
haps  the  wound  was  not  serious,  after  all.  Hammon's 
•death  would  mean  the  ruin  of  many  investors,  a  general 
•crash,  perhaps  even  a  wide-spread  panic,  and,  according  to 
Merkle's  standards,  these  catastrophes  bulked  bigger  than 
the  unhappiness  of  women,  the  fall  of  an  honored  name,  or 
death  itself. 

When  he  felt  the  grateful  smoothness  of  Fifth  Avenue 
beneath  the  wheels  he  leaned  forth  a  second  time  and 
warned  Bob,  "Be  careful  of  the  watchman  in  the  block." 

The  liquor  in  Bob  was  dying;  he  bent  downward  to 
inquire,  "Is  he  all  right?" 

Merkle  nodded,  then  withdrew  his  head. 

The  Hammon  residence  has  changed  owners  of  late,  but 
many  people  recall  its  tragic  associations  and  continue  to 
point  it  out  with  interest.  It  is  a  massive  pile  of  gray 
stone,  standing  just  east  of  Fifth  Avenue,  and  its  bronze 
doors  open  upon  an  exclusive,  well-kept  side-street.  As 
the  cab  swung  in  sight  of  the  house  Wharton,  seeing  a 
gray-clad  figure  near  by,  drove  past  without  pausing  and 
turned  south  on  Madison  Avenue.  He  made  a  complete 
circuit  of  the  block,  meditating  with  sobering  effect  upon 
the  risk  he  was  running.  His  heart  was  pounding  vio 
lently  when  the  street  unrolled  before  him  for  a  second 
time.  At  the  farther  corner,  dimly  discernible  beneath 
the  radiance  of  a  street-light,  he  made  out  the  watchman, 
now  at  the  end  of  his  patrol.  The  moment  was  propitious ; 
there  could  be  no  further  delay. 

Bob  reined  in  and  leaped  from  his  box.  Merkle  had 
the  cab  door  open  and  was  hoisting  Hammon  from  his 
seat. 

"Have  you  got  the  key?"  Bob  asked,  swiftly. 

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"Yes.    Help  me!    He's  fainted,  I  think." 

They  lifted  the  half-conscious  man  out,  then  with  him 
between  them  struggled  up  the  steps;  but  Hammon's  feet 
dragged;  he  hung  very  heavy  in  their  arms. 

Merkle  was  not  a  strong  man;  he  was  panting,  and  his 
hands  shook  as  he  fumbled  with  the  lock.  The  key  escaped 
him  and  tinkled  upon  the  stone. 

"  Hurry !  Here  comes  the  watchman."  Bob  was  gazing 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  slowly  approaching  figure.  The 
watchman  had  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  old-fashioned 
vehicle  and  its  dejected  animal,  wondering,  no  doubt, 
what  brought  such  an  antiquated  rig  into  this  most  exclu 
sive  neighborhood.  He  was  within  a  few  numbers  of  the 
Hammon  house  before  Merkle  solved  the  mysteries  of  the 
lock  and  the  heavy  portals  swung  open.  In  another  in 
stant  the  door  had  closed  noiselessly,  and  the  three  were 
shut  off  from  the  street  by  a  barricade  of  iron  grillwork 
and  plate  glass.  Both  Bob  and  Merkle  were  weak  from 
the  narrowness  of  their  escape,  but  the  way  was  still 
barred  by  another  door,  through  which  two  elaborate 
H's  worked  into  French  lace  panels  showed  pallidly. 

A  second  but  briefer  delay,  and  they  stood  in  the  gloom 
of  the  marble  foyer  hall.  Then  they  shuffled  across  the 
floor  to  the  great  curving  stairway.  Both  of  Hammon's 
friends  knew  the  house  well,  and,  guided  only  by  their 
sense  of  touch,  they  labored  upward  with  their  burden. 
The  place  was  still,  tomb-like;  only  the  faint,  measured 
ticking  of  a  clock  came  to  them. 

Hammon  had  assured  them  that  there  would  be  no  one 
in  the  house  except  Orson,  his  man,  and  some  of  the 
kitchen  servants,  the  others  having  followed  their  mistress 
to  the  country;  nevertheless  the  rescuers'  nerves  were 
painfully  taut,  and  they  tried  to  go  as  silently  as  burglars. 
It  was  hard,  awkward  work;  they  collided  with  unseen 
objects ;  their  arms  ached  with  the  constant  strain ;  when 
they  finally  gained  the  library  they  were  drenched  with 

233 


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perspiration.     Merkle  switched  on  the  lights;    they  de 
posited  the  wounded  man  on  a  couch  and  bent  over  him. 

Hammon  was  not  dead.  Merkle  felt  his  way  into  the 
darkened  regions  at  the  rear  and  returned  with  a  glass  of 
spirits.  Under  his  and  Bob's  ministrations  the  uncon 
scious  man  opened  his  eyes. 

"  You  got  me  here,  didn't  you?"  he  whispered,  as  he  took 
in  his  surroundings.  "Now  go — everything  is  all  right." 

"We're  not  going  to  leave  you,"  Merkle  said,  positively. 

"No!"  echoed  Bob.  "I'll  wake  up  Orson  while  John 
telephones  the  doctor." 

But  Hammon  forbade  Bob's  movement  with  a  frown. 
It  was  plain  that  despite  his  weakness  his  mind  remained 
clear. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  ordered.  "  Prop  me  up — put  me  in 
that  chair.  I'm  choking."  They  did  as  he  directed. 
"That's  better.  Now,  you  mustn't  be  seen  here — either 
of  you.  We  can't  explain."  He  checked  Merkle.  "I 
know  best.  Go  home;  it's  only  two  blocks — I'll  telephone." 

"You'll  ring  lor  Orson  quick?" 

Hammon  nodded. 

"Rotten  way  to  leave  a  man,"  Bob  mumbled.  "I'd 
rather  stick  it  out  and  face  the  music." 

"Go,  go!  You're  wasting  time."  Hammon's  brow  was 
wrinkled  with  pain  and  anger.  "  You've  been  good ;  now 
hurry." 

Merkle's  thin  face  was  marked  with  deep  feeling. 
' '  Yes, ' '  he  agreed.  ' '  There's  nothing  else  for  us  to  do ;  but 
tell  Orson  to  'phone  me  quick.  I'll  be  back  here  in  five 
minutes."  Then  he  and  Bob  stole  out  of  the  house  as 
quietly  as  they  had  stolen  in. 

They  got  into  the  cab  and  drove  away  without  exciting 
suspicion.  Merkle  alighted  two  blocks  up  the  avenue 
and  sped  to  his  own  house;  Bob  turned  his  jaded  nag 
westward  through  the  sunken  road  that  led  toward  the 
Elegancia  and  Lorelei. 

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THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

The  owner  of  the  equipage  was  waiting  patiently,  and 
there  still  lacked  something  of  the  allotted  hour  when 
the  exchanged  garments  had  been  transferred  to  their 
respective  owners.  Bob  walked  toward  the  Elegancia  with 
a  feeling  of  extreme  fatigue  in  his  limbs,  for  the  effort 
to  conquer  his  intoxication  had  left  him  weak;  he  dimly 
realized  also  that  he  was  still  far  from  sober. 

There  was  no  answer  when  he  rang  at  Lilas  Lynn's 
apartment;  the  hall-boy  volunteered  the  information 
that  the  occupant  had  just  gone  out  with  a  gentleman. 
Miss  Knight  ?  Yes,  she  was  up-stairs,  he  supposed.  But 
when  Bob  undertook  to  go  up  there  was  prompt  objection. 
The  attendant  would  not  hear  to  such  a  thing  until  he 
had  first  called  Miss  Knight.  Even  Lorelei's  halting 
assurance  that  the  gentleman  was  indeed  her  husband 
did  not  wholly  satisfy,  and  it  was  with  a  suspicious  mien 
that  the  man  finally  gave  way. 

Bob  was  surprised  at  his  wife's  apparent  self-control 
when  she  let  him  in.  Except  for  the  slim  hand  pressed 
to  her  bosom  and  the  anxiety  lurking  in  her  deep  blue 
eyes  she  might  have  just  come  from  the  theater.  Those 
eyes,  he  noted,  were  very  dark,  almost  black,  under  this 
emotional  stress;  they  questioned  him,  mutely. 

"We  got  him  home  all  right,"  he  told  her,  when  they 
stood  facing  each  other  in  the  tiny  living-room. 

"Will  he  live?" 

"Oh  yes.  He  says  he's  not  badly  hurt,  and  Merkle 
agrees.  Lord !  we'd  never  left  him  alone  if  we'd  thought — ' ' 

"I'm  glad.  When  the  telephone  rang  I  thought — it  was 
the  police." 

"There,  there!"  he  said,  comfortingly,  seeing  her  trem 
ble.  "I  won't  let  am>-body  hurt  you.  I  was  terribly 
drunk — things  are  swimming  yet — but  all  the  way  across 
town  I  couldn't  think  of  anything,  anybody  except  you 
and  what  it  would  mean  to  you  if  it  got  out." 

"It  will  get  out,  I'm  sure.    Such  things  always  do." 

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THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

He  eyed  her  gravely,  kindly,  with  an  expression  she  had 
never  seen  upon  his  face. 

"Then — we'll  face  it  together,"  he  said. 

After  a  moment  her  glance  drooped,  a  faint  color  tinged 
her  cheeks.  "I — wouldn't  dare  face  it  alone.  I  couldn't. 
But  you're  tired — sick."  He  nodded.  "You  must  lie 
down  and  sleep,  and  get  to  be  yourself  again —  We  can't 
tell  what  may  happen  now  at  any  moment." 

"It's  the  reaction,  I  suppose.    I'm  all  in.    And  you?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  couldn't  sleep  if  I  tried.  I 
feel  as  if  I'd  never  be  able  to  sleep  again.  I — I'll  sit  and 
watch  and — wait." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

afternoon  Mrs.  Knight,  in  a  great  flutter  of 
excitement,  arrived  with  Jim  at  the  Elegancia.     Em 
bracing  her  daughter  in  tremulous,  almost  tearful  delight, 
she  burst  forth: 

"  You  dear  !  You  darling!  Jim  came  home  riot  an  hour 
ago  and  told  me  everything.  I  thought  I  should  swoon." 

"Told  you — everything?"  Lorelei  flashed  a  glance  at 
her  brother,  who  made  a  quick  sign  of  reassurance. 

"Yes.  Peter  is  so  happy — he's  better  already,  and 
wants  to  meet  Robert.  You  know  neither  of  us  have  seen 
our  new  son — that's  what  he's  going  to  be,  too — a  real 
son,  like  Jim.  But  I  think  you  might  have  telephoned." 
She  checked  her  exuberance  to  inquire,  in  a  stage  whisper 
that  carried  through  the  flat,  "Is  the  dear  boy  here?" 

"Sure!    Where's  brother  Bob?"  echoed  Jim. 

"He  went  home  to  change  his  clothes  and  to  telegraph 
his  people." 

"But  how  strange — how  terrible  you  look!" 

Jim  volunteered  an  explanation.  "Remember,  ma,  we 
were  up  all  night,  and  it  was  some  wedding  party.  Pipe 
me.  I  look  like  a  wreck  on  the  Erie." 

"And  to  think  that  while  Lilas  was  out  enjoying  herself 
with  you  poor  Mr.  Hammon  was  lying  with  a  bullet  in 
him.  I  never  had  such  a  shock  as  when  I  read  the  extras. 
You've  seen  them?"  Lorelei  nodded — indeed,  the  room 
was  strewn  with  newspapers.  "They  say  it  was  accidental 
— but  pshaw!"  Mrs.  Knight  shrugged  knowingly. 

"Don't  you  think  it  was?" 

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"My  dear!  Think  of  his  family  troubles  and  financial 
worries!" 

"That's  the  general  talk,"  Jim  agreed.  "Things  were 
boiling  when  the  market  closed.  All  of  his  stocks  are 
away  off.  Well,  I  don't  blame  him." 

"Yes,  and  he'd  quarreled  with  Lilas,  too.  That's  why 
she  sailed  for  Europe  this  morning."  Mrs.  Knight's  hard 
eyes  glittered,  her  sharp  nose  seemed  to  lengthen.  "I'll 
warrant  she  knows  a  lot  more  than  she'll  tell.  I'd  like 
to  question  her,  and  I  will  when —  Lorelei!  You're  as 
white  as  a  sheet.  Are  you  ill?" 

"No.  Only — everything  came  at  once.  It  was  a — long 
night." 

Jim  sighed  wearily.  "  Deliver  me  from  hysterical  fluffs 
like  Lilas.  I'd  rather  load  a  cargo  of  boa-constrictors  than 
start  her  for  the  briny." 

What  with  Lorelei's  good  fortune  and  Lilas's  catastrophe 
Mrs.  Knight  was  well-nigh  delirious.  It  was  not  often 
that  she  could  roll  two  such  delicious  morsels  under  her 
tongue,  and  she  patently  gloried  in  the  opportunity  for 
gossip.  She  ended  a  period  of  chatter  by  saying: 

"It  just  goes  to  show  that  a  girl  must  be  careful.  If 
Lilas  had  behaved  herself  she'd  have  been  married  and 
rich  like  you.  Oh,  I  can't  believe  it  has  come  true!  Think 
of  it  yourself,  dearie;  I — I'm  nearly  out  of  my  head." 
She  dabbed  at  her  moistening  eyes,  becoming  more  and 
more  excited  as  she  dwelt  upon  the  family's  sudden  rise 
to  affluence.  She  was  still  rejoicing  garrulously  when 
Lorelei  burst  into  one  of  her  rare  passions  of  weeping  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Child  alive !"  cried  her  astonished  mother.  "What  ails 
you' 


Instantly  Jim's  suspicions  caught  fire. 
"Say!    Has  Bob  welched?"  he  demanded,  harshly. 
The  amber  head  shook  in  negation. 
"Isn't  he — nice  to  you?"  quavered  Mrs.  Knight. 

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THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"Yes.  But — I'm  sorry  I  did  it.  He  was  drinking;  he 
didn't  know  what  he  was  doing — " 

"Hush!"  Mrs.  Knight  cast  a  fearful  glance  over  her 
shoulder.  "  It  was  all  straight  and  aboveboard,  and  he  knew 
perfectly  well  what  he  was  about.  Jim  would  swear  to  it." 

Lorelei  lifted  a  tragic,  tear-stained  face.  "I  ought  to 
be  hanged,"  she  said. 

Jim  laughed  with  relief.  "There's  gratitude  for  you! 
If  I  had  your  share  of  the  Wharton  coin  I'd  let  'em  hang 
me — for  a  while." 

"There,  there!"  Mrs.  Knight  chided  her  daughter. 
"You're  worn  out,  and  no  wonder;  but  everything  is 
lovely.  I'm  dying  to  meet  Robert's  mother,  now  that  we 
have  so  much  in  common.  I'm  sure  I'll  like  her,  although 
I  can't  see  what  pleasure  she  can  get  from  giving  away 
money.  Why,  she's  simply  robbing  Bob's  family  when 
she  throws  her  thousands  to  charity,  and  I  intend  to  tell 
her  so,  too,  in  a  nice  way,  the  first  chance  I  get.  Of  course, 
you'll  quit  the  Revue  to-night.  That  '11  be  a  relief, 
won't  it?  Has  Robert  given  you  anything  yet?  They 
say  he's  terribly  generous." 

"I  can't  quit  right  away,  now  that  Lilas  has  left. 
But  I  dare  say  Bob  won't  let  me  work  very  long." 

"Indeed!  I  should  hope  not."  Mrs.  Knight's  chin 
lifted.  "If  I  were  you  I'd  never  go  near  Bergman's 
theater  again.  Let  him  sue  you." 

Jim  eyed  his  sister  admiringly.  "You're  a  dandy  crier, 
Sis,"  he  observed.  "Your  nose  doesn't  swell  and  your 
eyes  don't  pop  out.  You  could  sob  your  way  right  into 
the  Wharton  family  if  you  tried."  He  lit  a  cigar,  sighed 
gratefully,  and,  dragon-like,  emitted  twin  columns  of 
smoke  from  his  nostrils.  "Hannibal  Wharton  is  worth 
twenty  millions  easy,"  he  went  on,  complacently;  "maybe 
forty.  We  didn't  do  so  badly — for  country  yaps — did  we? 
It  feels  mighty  good  to  be  in  the  kale-patch.  No  more 
small  change  for  yours  truly.  But,  say — it  was  a  battle!" 

239 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

Mrs.  Knight  ran  down  slowly,  like  a  clock.  This  sud 
den  and  unexpected  triumph  had  gone  to  her  head;  she 
could  talk  only  of  dollars  and  cents.  In  her  fancy  she 
juggled  huge  sums  of  money;  she  drew  extravagant  pic 
tures  of  a  glittering  future  in  which  the  whole  family 
figured.  Throughout  this  sordid  chatter,  with  its  avari 
cious  gloatings  and  endless  repetitions,  Lorelei  sat  listless, 
her  thoughts  far  from  pleasant.  It  had  required  this  final 
touch  to  make  her  fully  feel  her  wretchedly  false  position. 

As  mother  and  son  were  leaving,  Jim  managed  to  get 
a  word  in  private  with  his  sister. 

"Don't  weaken,"  he  cautioned  her.  "Lynn's  gone,  and 
it's  all  over.  We've  got  the  whip-hand  on  all  of  'em — 
Hammon,  Merkle,  Bob,  Lilas — everybody.  We've  got 
'em  all,  understand?  We've  landed  big!" 

When  she  was  alone  Lorelei  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  which 
changed  to  a  sob  as  the  sense  of  her  helplessness  surged 
over  her  again.  She  was  worn  out,  and  yet  she  could 
not  rest.  She  longed  for  the  open  air,  and  yet  she  dreaded 
to  show  herself  abroad,  fearing  that  some  one  would  read 
her  secret.  Thoughts  of  the  evening  performance  at  the 
theater  filled  her  with  unfamiliar  misgivings — she  won 
dered  if  she  could  appear  in  public  without  breaking  down. 
She  knew  well  enough  who  had  fired  that  shot — would 
others  fail  to  suspect?  The  secrecy  in  which  the  whole 
affair  was  veiled  seemed  terribly  artificial;  it  was  impos 
sible  that  such  a  barefaced  conspiracy  to  suppress  the 
truth  could  long  remain  undiscovered.  And — if  Hammon 
died,  what  then  ?  He  was  reported  to  be  very  low ;  suppose 
he  became  delirious  and  betrayed  himself?  She  would 
be  involved — and  Merkle  and  Bob. 

Every  clang  of  the  elevator  gate,  every  footfall  outside 
her  door  alarmed  her.  As  with  most  women,  her  knowl 
edge  of  the  law  was  negligible,  her  conception  of  its  work 
ings  was  grotesquely  child-like. 

Yet,  after  all,  the  incidents  of  the  shooting  affected  her 

240 


OHE  wearily  wondered  where  the  new  road  led- 
^  surely  not  to  happiness. 

16 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

less  than  the  amazing  change  in  her  own  fortunes;  she 
was  a  wife.  The  word  sounded  shockingly  unreal.  This 
was  no  longer  her  home,  her  sanctuary;  another  had 
equal  share  in  it.  She  no  longer  belonged  to  herself; 
another — possessed  her.  And,  worst  of  all,  that  other  was 
practically  a  stranger.  She  felt  her  cheeks  burn;  she  was 
suffocated  by  a  sense  of  shame  from  which  there  was  no 
escape.  In  one  night  she  had  passed  the  turning-point 
from  girlhood  to  womanhood,  from  womanhood  to  wife- 
hood,  and  there  had  been  no  love,  no  faith,  no  glamour 
even,  in  the  act.  She  had  deliberately  sold  herself;  she 
wearily  wondered  where  the  new  road  led — surely  not  to 
happiness. 

Toward  evening  Adore"e  Demorest  telephoned,  and  with 
many  anticipatory  exclamations  of  pleasure  invited  Lore 
lei  to  dine. 

"I  can't,"  answered  Lorelei,  faintly. 

"Bother  your  engagements!"  Miss  Demorest's  disap 
pointment  was  keen. 

"I  can't  even  explain,  unless — you'll  come  here." 

"To  dinner?" 

Lorelei  decided  swiftly.  She  dreaded  to  be  alone  with 
Bob;  her  constraint  in  his  presence  was  painful,  and  he 
also,  before  going  out,  had  appeared  very  ill  at  ease.  He 
had  not  even  made  plans  for  the  evening  meal.  In  view 
of  all  this  she  answered: 

"Yes,  to  dinner.    Please,  please  come." 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"I'll— tell  you  later." 

Miss  Demorest  yielded,  not  without  some  regret.  "I 
was  going  to  cook  the  supper  myself,  and  I'm  all  done  up 
like  a  sore  foot ;  but  I'll  remove  the  bandages.  I  suppose 
you  know  the  potatoes  ar6  peeled  and  the  salad  will  spoil 
unless  I  bring  it?" 

"Then  bring  it,  and  hurry." 

Lorelei  was  not  quite  sure  that  Bob  would  consent  to 

243 


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dine  in  the  modest  little  home,  but  under  the  circumstances 
idleness  was  maddening,  so  she  fell  to  work.  It  seemed 
very  odd,  when  she  thought  of  it,  for  the  bride  of  a  million 
aire  to  prepare  a  meal  with  her  own  hands,  but  anything 
was  preferable  to  dining  out,  in  her  present  frame  of 
mind.  This  was  very  different  from  what  she  had  ex 
pected,  but — everything  was  different.  Once  the  mar 
riage  had  become  known  to  Bob's  people  and  he  had 
thoroughly  sobered  down,  once  she  had  withdrawn  from 
the  cast  of  the  Revue,  their  real  life  would  begin. 

Bob  was  pale  and  a  bit  unsteady  when  he  arrived,  but 
Lorelei  saw  that  he  suffered  only  from  the  effects  of  his 
previous  debauch.  He  was  extremely  self-conscious  and 
uneasy  in  her  presence,  though  he  kissed  her  with  a  brave 
show  of  confidence. 

"I  galloped  into  the  bank  just  as  they  slammed  the 
doors,"  he  explained,  "but  my  bookkeeping  is  rotten." 

"Yes?" 

"My  accounts  somehow  never  tally  with  theirs,  and 
they  always  explain  very  patiently — it's  a  patient  bank — 
that  they  use  adding-machines.  Beastly  nuisance,  this 
constant  figuring,  especially  when  you  never  hit  the  right 
answer.  But  a  man  can't  expect  to  compete  with  one  of 
those  mechanical  contraptions." 

"Are  you  trying  to  tell  me  that  you  have  over 
drawn?" 

"Exactly.  But  I  drew  against  the  old  gentleman,  as 
usual,  so  on  with  the  dance.  What's  the — er — idea  of  the 
apron?" 

"It's  nearly  dinner-time." 

Bob's  eyes  opened  with  surprise.  "Why,  we're  going 
to  Delmonico's." 

"I'd — rather  do  this  if  you  don't  mind."  She  eyed 
him  appealingly.  "I  don't  feel  equal  to  going  out  to 
night.  I'm — afraid." 

"Don't  you  keep  a  maid?"  he  inquired. 

244 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"Where  would  I  keep  her — in  the  ice-box?"  Lorelei 
smiled  faintly. 

His  glance  brightened  with  admiration.  "Well,  you 
look  stunning  in  that  get-up,  and  I'd  hate  to  see  you 
change  it.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  can  cook?" 

"Not  well,  but  I  can  fry  almost  anything.  Mother  has 
a  maid.  I  couldn't  afford  two." 

"I  love  fried  things,"  he  assured  her,  with  a  twinkle. 
"And  to  think  you're  going  to  cook  for  me!  That's  an 
experience  for  both  of  us.  Let's  have  some  fried  roast  beef 
and  fried  corn  on  the  cob  with  fried  salad  and  cheese — ' 

"Don't  tease,"  she  begged,  uncertainly.  "I  hardly 
know  what  I'm  doing,  and  I  thought  this  would  keep  me 
busy  until  theater-time." 

He  extended  a  hand  timidly  and  patted  her  arm,  saying 
with  unexpected  gentleness: 

"Please  don't  worry.  I  supposed  we'd  dine  in  public, 
but  if  you  like  this  better,  so  do  I.  When  we  pull  our 
selves  together  and  get  settled  a  bit  we'll  make  our  plans 
for  the  future.  At  present  I'm  still  in  a  daze.  It  was  a 
terrible  night  for  all  of  us.  When  I  think  of  it  I'm  sure 
it  must  have  been  a  dream.  I  saw  Merkle;  he's  perfectly 
cold  and  matter-of-fact  about  it  all.  He  got  back  to 
Hammon's  house  ahead  of  the  doctor,  and  nobody  suspects 
the  truth.  But  the  Street  is  in  chaos,  and  all  of  Hammon's 
companies  are  feeling  the  strain.  The  shorts  are  running 
to  cover,  and  there's  a  report  that  it  was  suicide,  which 
makes  things  worse.  It  couldn't  have  happened  at  a 
more  inopportune  time,  either.  Dad's  on  his  way  from 
Pittsburg  to  help  save  Merkle's  bank." 

"Shouldn't  you  have  been  at  business  on  such  a  day?" 

Bob  shrugged  carelessly.  "I'm  only  a  'joke'  broker. 
The  governor  thinks  a  firm-name  looks  well  on  my  cards. 
I  hope  he  doesn't  lose  more  than  a  million  in  this  flurry — 
it  won't  improve  his  disposition.  But — wait  till  he  learns 
I've  married  a  girl  who  can  fry  things —  By  the  way — " 

245 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

Bob  paused.     "I  invited  a  friend  to  dine  with  us  to 
night." 

Lorelei  was  less  dismayed  than  he  had  expected.  "So 
have  I,"  she  said. 

"  I  thought  it  might  be  pleasanter  for  you,"  he  explained, 
a  bit  awkwardly,  "inasmuch  as  we're  not  very  well — 
acquainted.  I  saw  before  I  went  out  that  you  were — er — 
embarrassed — and — and — "  He  flushed  boyishly,  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  delicacy  that  had  prompted  his  action. 
"Anyhow,  he's  gone  home  to  put  on  a  clean  sweater." 

"You  don't  mean  you  asked — ?" 

"Campbell  Pope;  yes.  I  met  him,  and  he  looked  hun 
gry.  He's  coming  here  at  six."  For  almost  the  first  time 
in  Bob's  society  Lorelei  laughed  out  clearly. 

"And  I  asked  Adore"e  Demorest,"  she  said. 

Bob  grinned  and  then  laughed  with  her.  "Fine!"  he 
cried.  "  Both  members  of  this  club.  Really,  this  ought  to 
make  the  best  finish  fight  seen  in  New  York  for  many 
a  day." 

"I  don't  care,"  Lorelei  said,  stubbornly.  "Adore*e  is 
the  most  misjudged  person  in  America,  and  Pope  ought 
to  know  the  truth." 

As  she  flitted  back  and  forth  preparing  dinner  Bob  kept 
up  a  ceaseless  chatter  that  did  much  to  lessen  their  con 
straint.  She  was  conscious  through  it  all  of  his  admiration, 
but  it  still  seemed  to  be  the  admiration  of  a  stranger,  not 
of  a  husband;  never  for  one  moment  had  either  of  them 
felt  the  binding  force  of  their  new  relationship;  never 
had  they  been  farther  apart  than  now. 

Adoree's  surprise  at  rinding  Robert  Wharton  in  her 
friend's  apartment  was  intense,  and  when  she  learned 
the  truth  she  was  for  once  in  her  life  speechless.  She 
could  only  stare  from  one  to  the  other,  wavering  between 
consternation  and  delight.  Finally  she  sat  down  limply. 

"I — I'd  have  brought  a  present  if  I'd  known,"  she 
managed  to  say. 

246 


ONT  kill  him;  just  stay  and  spoil  his  dinner/ 
rest's  countenance.    "I'll  do  it — he's  spoiled  man} 
I'm   distilling   poison   like   a   cobra."      She   seized   the 


orelei  urged.  Determination  gleamed  in  Miss  Demo- 
dinner  for  me.  But  give  me  room.  Don't  touch  me. 
earning  bread-knife. 


THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

"Are  you  going  to  wish  us  luck?"  Bob  inquired. 

"Luck!  You've  both  got  it.  She's  the  best  girl  in  the 
world,  and  you're — "  Adore*e  hesitated,  and  continued  to 
stare,  round-eyed.  "I  didn't  think  you'd — I  didn't  think 
she'd — I  don't  know  what  I  thought  or  didn't  think. 
But — Jimminy!  Married!"  When  Lorelei  led  her  into 
the  bedroom  to  lay  off  her  wraps  the  thunderstruck  young 
woman  had  more  nearly  recovered  herself.  "Why,  he's 
worth  millions,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  whisper — "billions! 
I  don't  know  how  to  talk  to  him — or  you,  for  that  matter. 
Shall  I  call  you  'my  Lady'  or  'your  Honor,'  or — " 

"You  knew  how  to  talk  to  him  that  night  of  the  supper." 

"And  to  think  you  married  him  after  what  hap — 
I'm  going  to  slap  the  very  first  millionaire  I  meet — maybe 
he'll  propose  to  me."  She  was  suddenly  dismayed.  "Why, 
I  can't  afford  to  buy  you  a  wedding-gift — you'll  expect  a 
diamond  sunburst  or  a  set  of  sea-otter.  I  didn't  dress  for 
dinner  either ;  I  suppose  I  should  have  worn  the  crown  jools  ' ' 

"You're  going  to  wear  an  apron  and  help  me  scorch 
the  dinner,"  Lorelei  laughed. 

"You — cooking,  with  a  billionaire  husband!"  Adoree 
gasped.  "Am  I  dreaming?  Why  don't  you  dine  aboard 
his  yacht,  or — buy  the  Plaza  and  have  dinner  served  in 
the  lobby?  You  cooking!  Why,  you're  going  to  have 
automobiles  to  match  your  dresses,  and  chateaux  in 
France,  and  servants,  and  stables  of  polo-ponies,  and  a 
Long  Island  estate,  and  a  hunting-lodge,  and — and  thou 
sands  of  gowns,  and  a  maid  to  put  'em  on.  She'll  do  it, 
too — when  you're  not  looking."  Miss  Demorest  paused, 
dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  her  own  imaginings.  "You! 
Cooking!  Stop  fidgeting  and  let  me  kiss  you.  There!" 

As  Lorelei  explained  the  reasons  for  to-night's  program, 
Adoree  saw  for  the  first  time  the  weariness  in  her  friend's 
eyes,  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks,  the  tremulous  droop  of  her 
lower  lip.  Seizing  Lorelei  by  the  shoulders,  she  held  her 
off  as  the  target  for  a  searching  gaze. 

251 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"Tell  me,  did  they  make  you  marry  him?"  she  inquired, 
fiercely.  It  was  plain  to  whom  she  referred. 

"No." 

"Whew!  I'm  glad  to  hear  that.  You  love  him,  don't 
you?" 

The  answer  came  readily  enough,  and  the  blue  eyes  did 
not  flinch,  but  the  smile  was  a  trifle  fixed  and  the  cheeks 
remained  colorless. 

"Why,  of  course.    He's  very  nice." 

"Lorelei!"  Miss  Demorest's  fingers  tightened;  her 
voice  was  tragic,  but  she  had  no  chance  to  say  more,  for 
Bob  called  just  then  from  the  living-room: 

"Hurry  back,  girls.  There's  something  burning,  and  I 
can't  find  the  emergency  brake." 

When  Adoree  finally  came  forth  in  one  of  Lorelei's 
aprons — really  a  fetching  garment,  more  like  a  house 
dress  than  an  apron — Bob  told  her  whom  they  were  ex 
pecting  as  the  other  guest. 

She  paused  with  a  bread-knife  upraised. 

"That— viper?"  she  cried. 

"Campbell  isn't  a  viper;  he's  a  cricket — a  dramatic 
cricket,"  declared  Bob. 

Adoree  began  to  undo  the  buttons  at  her  back,  but 
Bob  seized  her  hands. 

"Let  go.  I'll  blow  up  if  I  see  that  creature,"  she  ex 
claimed,  in  a  kind  of  subdued  shout. 

Argument  proved  vain  until  Lorelei  told  her  firmly: 
"You  owe  it  to  yourself,  dear.  And  we  won't  let  you  go." 

The  dancer  ceased  her  struggles,  her  brows  puckered. 
"Perhaps  I  do  owe  it  to  myself,  as  you  say.  Anyhow,  I 
haven't  taken  a  human  life  yet,  and  this  is  my  chance." 

"Don't  kill  him,  just  stay  and  spoil  his  dinner,"  Lorelei 
urged. 

Determination  gleamed  in  Miss  Demorest's  counte 
nance.  "I'll  do  it — he's  spoiled  many  a  dinner  for  me. 
But  give  me  room.  Don't  touch  me.  I'm  distilling 

252 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

poison  like  a  cobra."  She  seized  the  gleaming  bread-knife 
and  brandished  it.  "When  the  crisis  comes,  stand  back." 

"Seriously,  now,  Lorelei  has  told  me  everything,  and 
I  want  Campbell  to  acknowledge  his  mistake,"  said  Bob. 
"The  public  has  swallowed  that  royalty  hoax,  but  there's 
no  use  deceiving  him." 

Despite  her  show  of  bravery  Adore"e  was  panic-stricken 
when  the  bell  rang  and  Bob  went  to  the  door  to  explain 
the  change  of  plan  and  invite  Pope  in. 

The  latter  could  be  heard  saying :  ' '  That's  fine.  Me  for 
a  home-cooked  dinner.  Here's  an  unabridged  cluster  of 
orchids  for  Mrs.  Wharton,  too.  If  I'd  had  time  I'd  have 
brought  you  a  hanging-lamp  or  a  plush  album  decorated 
with  sea-shells."  He  entered  the  living-room  with  a  hand 
extended  and  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  then  halted  as  if 
frozen.  By  the  time  he  had  been  introduced  to  Adoree 
he  had  burst  into  a  gentle  perspiration. 

Certainly  the  personal  appearance  of  the  notorious 
dancer  was  sufficiently  unexpected  to  shock  him;  she 
might  have  been  anything  rather  than  a  king's  favorite; 
she  looked  far  more  like  a  prim  little  housewife  as  she 
helped  Lorelei  with  her  homely  tasks,  and  the  incongruity 
affected  Pope  painfully.  With  involuntary  suspicion  he 
avoided  her  after  his  first  stiff  greeting;  but  his  eyes  fol 
lowed  her  furtively,  and  he  wandered  slightly  in  his  at 
tention  to  Bob's  chatter. 

As  for  Miss  Demorest,  she  took  a  grim  delight  in  his  dis 
comfort,  and  prepared  to  blast  him  with  sarcasm,  to  wither 
him  with  her  contempt  when  the  moment  came.  Mean 
while  she  listened  as  the  two  men  talked,  turning  up  her 
nose  when  Pope  scored  Broadway  with  his  usual  bitter 
ness. 

"He  thinks  that's  smart,"  she  reflected;  but  she,  too, 
detested  the  Great  Trite  Way,  and  his  words  expressed 
her  own  distaste  so  aptly  that  she  could  think  of  no  argu 
ment  sufficiently  biting  to  confound  him.  She  deliberate- 

253 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

ly  framed  a  stinging  reference  to  his  pose  in  the  matter 
of  dress,  though  in  frankness  she  had  to  admit  that  he 
wore  his  gray  sweater  vest  with  an  air  of  genuine  comfort 
and  unconsciousness.  Then  she  remembered,  barely  in 
time,  that  her  own  style  in  garments  both  on  and  off  the 
stage  was  far  more  startling  than  his,  and  decided  that 
she  would  merely  be  laying  herself  open  to  a  disastrous 
counter-attack  if  she  hurled  her  sarcasm  in  that  direction ; 
therefore  she  sought  another  opening.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  begin  humbling  his  conceit  by  voicing  her 
contemptuous  regard  for  newspaper  men  in  general  when 
he  once  more  forestalled  her  by  giving  crisp  expression 
to  the  very  sentiments  she  was  rehearsing.  Of  course,  it 
was  all  affectation,  like  his  slovenly  disregard  of  fash 
ion —  and  yet,  she  was  interested  to  hear  him  tell 
Bob: 

"I  don't  like  the  business — never  have.  Every  time 
I  get  some  money  ahead  I  quit  it  and  try  something  else. 
Writing  isn't  a  man's  exercise,  anyhow,  and  journalism 
is  just  a  form  of  body-snatching.  The  average  reporter 
is  a  ghoul." 

"You  don't  do  reporting,"  said  Bob. 

"No,  I  don't;  but  that's  all  a  dramatic  review  ought 
to  be — a  news  story.  Why  not  have  social  critics  to  com 
ment  on  society  entertainments — or  financial  critics  to 
roast  unhealthy  commercial  enterprises  and  advertise 
safe  ones  ?  How  long  d'you  think  Wall  Street  would  stand 
for  that?  Why  don't  the  papers  hire  dry-goods  experts 
to  prowl  through  the  department  stores,  publishing  the 
cost  prices  of  merchandise  and  warning  the  public  against 
bargain  sales?  That's  what  we  do.  We  ridicule  and 
warn  and  criticize,  but  we  never  build  up.  The  theatrical 
business  is  the  only  one  that  permits  outside  interference 
— as  if  the  public  couldn't  tell  a  good  play  from  a  poor 
one.  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  we  were  always  honest; 
but  we're  not:  we  have  to  be  smart  to  hold  our  jobs. 

254 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

We're  like  a  patent  dandruff  cure — we  don't  cure,  but  we 
sting,  and  the  public  thinks  we're  beneficial." 

Notwithstanding  his  garrulity,  Pope  was  noticeably  ill 
•at  ease.  He  was  conscious  of  Miss  Demorest's  hostile 
eyes,  and  the  pointed  manner  in  which  she  ignored  his 
presence  was  disquieting.  He  had  the  feeling  that  she 
was  carefully  measuring  him  and  preparing  herself  to  take 
revenge  in  some  characteristic  feminine  manner.  Know 
ing  extremely  little  of  women,  he  could  not  imagine  what 
form  that  revenge  would  assume,  and  the  uncertainty 
annoyed  him.  The  dinner  seemed  slow  in  coming,  con 
versation  dragged,  and,  rising,  he  began  to  wander  ner 
vously  about,  canvassing  his  mind  for  some  excuse  to  leave. 
Bob  appeared  to  enjoy  his  lack  of  repose,  and  offered  no 
relief.  At  last  Pope  turned  to  the  piano  and  fluttered 
through  the  stack  of  sheet-music  he  found  there. 

"Do  you  play?"  inquired  Bob. 

"Yes.    Why?" 

"You  look  as  if  you  did — you're  kind  of — badly  nour 
ished.  Know  any  rag-time?" 

Pope  shuddered.    "I  do  not." 

1 '  Too  bad !    I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  stir  up  the  ivories. ' ' 

"Nfcbody  likes  good  music  any  more,"  growled  the 
critic,  seating  himself  upon  the  bench.  His  sensitive  fin 
gers  idly  rippled  the  length  of  the  keyboard  and  a  flood 
of  melody  filled  the  room. 

"Say!  You  do  know  your  way  around,  don't  you? 
Can't  you  pick  out  '  Here  Comes  My  Daddy  Now '  with 
one  finger?" 

The  musician  groaned.  "What  a  pity!"  After  a  mo 
ment  he  murmured,  "I  improvise  a  good  deal."  The  in 
strument,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  its  life,  began  to 
vibrate  and  ring  to  something  besides  the  claptrap  music 
of  the  day.  Once  he  had  found  a  means  of  occupying 
himself,  Pope  surrendered  to  his  impulse  and  in  a  measure 
forgot  his  surroundings. 

255 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

A  short  time  later  Lorelei  turned  from  the  kitchenette 
to  find  Adoree  Demorest  poised,  a  salad-bowl  in  one  hand, 
a  wooden  spoon  gripped  in  the  other,  on  her  face  a  rapt 
expression  of  beatitude. 

"Have  you  rubbed  the  dish  with  garlic?"  inquired 
Lorelei. 

Adoree  roused  herself  slowly.  "  Lordy !"  she  whispered. 
"I'd  give  both  legs  to  the  knee  and  one  eye  if  I  could  play 
like  that.  The  mean  little  shrimp !" 

The  embers  of  her  resentment  were  still  glowing  when 
the  four  finally  seated  themselves  at  the  table.  A  furtive 
glance  in  Pope's  direction  showed  that  he  was  studiously 
avoiding  her  eyes:  she  prepared  once  more  to  begin  the 
process  of  flaying  him. 

"You've  been  away  for  some  time,  haven't  you?"  Bob 
was  asking. 

Pope  nodded.  "  I  hate  New  York.  I  went  as  far  away 
as  I  could  get,  and — I  managed  to  return  just  two  jumps 
ahead  of  the  sheriff.  It  will  take  me  six  months  to  pay 
my  debts.  I'm  a  grand  little  business  man." 

"What  was  it  this  time?     Mining?" 

"No.    Poultry."    Adoree  pricked  up  her  ears. 

"You  went  West,  eh?"  pursued  Bob. 

"No.  East — Long  Island.  Did  you  know  there  are 
parts  of  the  Island  that  are  practically  unexplored  by 
civilized  man?  Well,  there  are.  They're  as  remote  from 
the  influence  of  New  York  as  the  heart  of  New  Guinea." 
Pope's  thin  lips  parted  in  a  smile.  "The  natives  are  all 
foreigners,  too.  There  are  Portuguese  pickle-pickers  and 
hairy-handed  Hollanders  who  live  with  their  heads  lower 
than  their  knees,  and  weed-pulling  wops  who  skulk  in 
patches  of  cauliflower  and  lettuce,  but  as  for  American 
settlers — there  ain't  none." 

Adoree  complacently  felt  that  she  had  the  critic  talking 
against  time,  and  the  consciousness  of  her  disturbing; 
influence  over  him  gratified  her  intensely. 

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"Their  language  is  a  sort  of  Reverse  English,"  Pope 
went  on,' 'and  it's  a  hard  country  to  explore  because  of  the 
dialects.  Some  of  the  people  are  flesh-eaters,  but  the 
price  of  poultry  is  so  high  and  the  freight  on  eggs  is  so 
low  that  most  of  them  are  vegetarians.  That's  what  got 
me  started,  in  the  first  place — I  saw  a  great  opportunity 
to  make  money;  so  I  found  a  farm  on  a  lake,  bought  it, 
and  went  to  raising  ducks." 

"Ducks!"  breathlessly  exclaimed  Miss  Demorest;  but 
her  interruption  went  unnoticed. 

Campbell  Pope's  features  shone  with  the  gentle  light 
of  a  pleasurable  remembrance.  "It  was  lovely  and  quiet 
out  there,  just  like  Saskatchewan  or  the  Soudan.  Some 
times  I  fancied  I  must  be  close  to  the  fringe  of  civilization, 
with  the  life  of  the  outer  world  pulsing  near  at  hand,  for 
I  could  hear  whispers  of  it;  but  I  soon  got  over  that 
idea.  The  local  inhabitants  were  shy  but  friendly;  they 
did  me  no  harm.  But — it  was  no  place  for  ducks;  they 
swam  all  over  the  pond  and  spent  so  much  time  catching 
bugs  on  the  bottom  that  they  had  no  leisure  for  family 
obligations  on  land." 

This  gloomy  recital  met  with  an  interest  that  prompted 
him  to  continue,  whimsically: 

"There  was  no  home  life  among  those  ducks — none 
whatever,  but  they  could  swim  nearly  as  well  as  Miss 
Kellerman.  They  never  took  cramps,  either,  although 
they  appeared  to  have  chronic  bronchitis;  and  they  must 
have  learned  to  breathe  through  their  tails,  because  they 
stood  on  their  heads  for  hours  at  a  time — all  I  could  see 
was  acres  of  white  tails  sticking  up  like  patches  of  Cubist 
pond-lilies.  They  swam  all  their  fat  off,  and  I  had  the 
pond  dredged  and  never  found  an  egg." 

Miss  Demorest  giggled  audibly;  she  had  lost  all  interest 
in  her  food;  she  was  tingling  with  excitement. 

"Why  didn't  you  fence  them  in?"  she  asked. 

Pope  eyed  her  for  a  fleeting  instant,  then  his  gaze  wavered. 
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"I  fenced  in  the  whole  pond  to  begin  with.  It  nearly 
broke  me." 

"A  duck  shouldn't  have  much  water.  What  kind  were 
they?" 

"Plymouth  Rocks,  or  Holsteins,  or  Jersey  Lilies — any 
how  they  were  white." 

"  White  Pekins!" 

The  critic  frowned  argumentatively.  "What  is  a  duck 
for  if  he  isn't  to  swim?  What  is  his  object?  We  had  six 
on  my  father's  farm,  and  they  swam  all  the  time.  Of 
course,  six  isn't  many,  but — " 

"Naturally  they  didn't  do  well — " 

"But  they  did  do  well — and  quite  naturally,  too.  They 
did  beautifully,  in  fact.  They  never  had  an  ache  or  a 
pain.  What  do  you  know  about  ducks?" 

Adoree  answered  in  a  tone  of  calm  and  utter  certainty: 
"I  know  everything.  I've  read  hundreds,  maybe  thou 
sands  of  duck  books.  I  have  a  whole  library  of  them." 

"A  duck  library.  I  thought  so.  But  did  you  ever 
own  a  library  of  ducks?  There's  a  difference.  A  man 
doesn't  have  to  know  anything  to  write  a  book — I've  done 
it  myself.  Practical  experience  is  the  thing." 

"Did  you  keep  cows  for  them?" 

Pope  stared  at  his  inquisitor  for  a  moment;  then  he 
explained  with  patient  politeness:  "These  were  not  car 
nivorous  ducks.  They  ate  bugs  and  fish  and  corn." 

"Corn!"  Adoree  was  shocked,  incredulous;  her  eyes 
glittered  with  the  fire  of  fanaticism;  she  no  longer  saw 
in  this  man  an  enemy,  a  vile  creature  branded  with  the 
mark  of  the  beast,  but  a  fellow-enthusiast — a  surprisingly 
ignorant  one,  to  be  sure,  but  an  enthusiast  for  all  that, 
and  therefore  bound  to  her  by  unbreakable  bonds.  Live 
steam  would  have  been  more  easily  confined  than  the 
vast  fund  of  technical  knowledge  with  which  she  was 
crammed. 

"You  should  have  fed  soft  food  and  sour  milk,"  she 

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began.  "Buttermilk  would  have  been  all  right,  and  in 
that  way  your  cows  would  have  been  self-supporting. 
You  need  a  good  pasture  with  a  duck-farm.  When  I  was 
in  Germany  I  saw  the  most  wonderful  incubator — a  child 
could  operate  it.  I'd  like  to  show  you  some  brooder- 
house  plans  I  had  drawn  over  there.  You  see,  you  made 
your  first  mistake  in  choosing  fresh-water.  If  I  had  a 
good  location  near  sa//-water — not  too  near — and  proper 
surroundings,  I'd  show  you  something  about  ducks.  I'd 
start  with  a  thousand — that's  plenty — then  kill  for  the 
market  as  they  quit  laying,  and  mix  the  stock  right,  and 
in  three  years — " 

Bob  Wharton  signaled  frantically  to  his  wife,  but  there 
was  no  stopping  the  discussion  that  had  begun  to  rage 
back  and  forth.  It  lasted  until  the  conclusion  of  the 
meal,  and  it  was  only  with  an  effort  that  Adoree  tore  her 
self  away.  She  was  in  her  element,  and  in  a  little  time 
had  won  the  critic's  undivided  attention ;  he  listened  with 
absorption;  he  even  made  occasional  notes. 

As  the  two  girls  dressed  hurriedly  for  the  theater,  Adoree 
confessed : 

"Golly!  I'm  glad  I  stayed.  He's  not  bright;  he's 
perfectly  silly  about  some  things,  and  yet  he's  the  most 
interesting  talker  I  ever  heard.  And — can't  he  play  a 
piano?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TJANNIBAL  WHARTON  arrived  in  New  York  at 
ll  five  o'clock  and  went  directly  to  Merkle's  bank.  At 
eight  o'clock  Jarvis  Hammon  died.  During  the  after 
noon  and  evening  other  financiers,  summoned  hurriedly 
from  New  England  shores  and  Adirondack  camps,  were 
busied  in  preparations  for  the  struggle  they  expected  on 
the  morrow.  During  the  closing  hours  of  the  market 
prices  had  slumped  to  an  alarming  degree;  a  terrific  raid 
on  metal  stocks  had  begun,  and  conditions  were  ripe  for 
a  panic. 

Hammon  had  bulked  large  in  the  steel  world,  and  his 
position  in  circles  of  high  finance  had  become  prominent ; 
but  alive  he  could  never  have  worked  one-half  the  havoc 
caused  by  his  sudden  death.  That  persistent  rumor  of 
suicide  argued,  in  the  public  mind,  the  existence  of  seri 
ous  money  troubles,  and  gave  significance  to  the  rumor 
that  for  some  time  past  had  disturbed  the  Street.  Ham- 
mon's  enemies  summoned  their  forces  for  a  crushing 
assault. 

In  this  emergency  Bob's  father  found  himself  the  real 
head  of  those  vast  enterprises  in  which  he  had  been  an 
associate,  and  until  a  late  hour  that  night  he  was  forced 
to  remain  in  consultation  with  men  who  came  and  went 
with  consternation  written  upon  their  faces. 

The  amazing  transformation  which  followed  the  birth 
of  the  giant  Steel  Trust  had  raised  many  men  from  well- 
to-do  obscurity  into  prominence  and  undreamed  -  of 
wealth.  Since  then  the  older  members  of  the  original 

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clique  had  withdrawn  one  by  one  from  active  affairs,  and 
of  the  younger  men  only  Wharton  and  Hammon  had  re 
mained.  Equally  these  two  had  figured  in  what  was  per 
haps  the  most  remarkable  chapter  of  American  financial 
history.  Both  had  been  vigorous,  self-made,  practical 
men.  But  the  outcome  had  affected  them  quite  differ 
ently. 

Riches  had  turned  Jarvis  Hammon's  mind  into  new 
channels;  they  had  opened  strange  pathways  and  pro 
jected  him  into  a  life  foreign  to  his  early  teachings.  His 
duties  had  kept  him  in  New  York,  while  Wharton's  had 
held  him  in  his  old  home.  Hammon  had  become  a  great 
financier;  Wharton  had  remained  the  practical  operating 
expert,  and,  owing  to  the  exactions  of  his  position,  he  had 
become  linked  more  closely  than  ever  to  business  detail. 
At  the  same  time  he  had  become  more  and  more  unap 
proachable.  Unlimited  power  had  forced  him  into  the 
peculiar  isolation  of  a  chief  executive;  he  had  grown  hard, 
suspicious,  arbitrary.  Even  to  his  son  he  had  been  for 
years  a  remote  being. 

It  was  not  until  the  last  conference  had  broken  up, 
not  until  the  last  forces  had  been  disposed  for  the  coming 
battle,  that  he  spoke  to  Merkle  of  Bob's  marriage.  Merkle 
told  him  what  he  knew,  and  the  old  man  listened  silently. 
Then  he  drove  to  the  Elegancia. 

Bob  and  Lorelei  had  just  returned  from  the  theater, 
much,  be  it  said,  against  the  bridegroom's  wishes.  Bob 
had  been  eager  to  begin  the  celebration  of  his  marriage 
in  a  fitting  manner,  and  it,  had  required  the  shock  of 
Hammon's  death»added  to  Lorelei's  entreaties  to  dissuade 
him  from  a  night  of  hilarity.  He  was  flushed  with  drink, 
and  in  consequence  more  than  a  little  resentful  when  she 
insisted  upon  spending  another  night  in  the  modest  little 
home. 

"Say!  I'm  not  used  to  this  kind  of  a  place,"  he  argued. 
"I'm  not  a  cave-dweller.  It's  a  lovely  flat — for  a  murder 

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— but  it's  no  place  to  live.  .And,  besides,  it  doesn't  look 
right  for  me  to — come  to  your  house,  when  all  the  hotels 
are  gasping  for  my  patronage.  I  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing.  Makes  me  feel  like  a  rummy." 

" Don't  be  silly,"  she  told  him.  "We  acted  on  impulse; 
we  can't  change  everything  at  a  moment's  notice.  I 
couldn't  bear  a  hotel  just  yet." 

"But — people  take  trips  when  they  get  married." 

"That  is  different.  Are  you — in  a  position  to  take  me 
away  to-night?" 

With  an  eloquent  gesture  Bob  turned  his  trousers 
pockets  wrong  side  out.  "Not  to-night,  perhaps,  but 
to-morrow." 

"I  can't  quit  the  show  without  two  weeks'  notice." 

"Two  weeks?"  He  was  aghast.  "Two  minutes.  Two 
seconds.  I  won't  have  you  dodging  around  stage-doors. 
To-morrow  you'll  breeze  in  and  tell  my  old  friend  Regan 
you've  quit.  Just  say,  'I  quit' — that's  notice  enough." 

"Bergman  won't  let  me  go;  it  wouldn't  be  right  to  ask 
him." 

But  Bob  was  insistent.  "It  pains  me  to  pull  the  props 
out  from  under  the  'profession'  and  leave  the  drama  flat, 
but  matrimony  was  a  successful  institution  before  the 
Circuit  Theater  was  built,  and  a  husband  has  rights.  I 
intend  to  cure  you  of  the  work  habit.  You  must  learn 
to  scorn  it.  Look  at  me.  I'm  an  example  of  the  unearned 
increment.  We'll  kiss  this  dinky  flat  a  fond  farewell — 
it's  impossible,  really — I  refuse  to  share  such  a  dark  secret 
with  you.  To-morrow  we  leave  it  for  the  third  and  last 
time.  What  d'you  say  to  the  sunny  side  of  the  Ritz  until 
we  decide  where  we  want  to  travel?" 

"You  don't  want  to  leave  New  York,  you  know,"  she 
told  him,  soberly.  "You're  offering  to  go  because  you 
think  it's  the  proper  thing  to  do  and  because  you  don't 
know  what  else  to  suggest.  But — I  have  to  work." 

"Ah!  The  family,  eh?  We'll  retire  'em  and  put  an 

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end  to  this  child  labor.  Now,  as  for  the  trip — we've  got 
to  do  something:  we  can't  just — live.  Where  do  you  have 
your  clothes  made?" 

Lorelei  named  several  tailors  of  whom  Bob  had  seldom 
heard. 

"That  won't  do,"  he  said,  positively.  "I'll  get  a  list 
of  the  smartest  shops  from  Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire,  and 
I  want  you  to  buy  enough  gowns  to  last  till  we  reach 
Paris — -a  couple  dozen  will  do — then  we'll  fit  out  properly. 
I'll  bet  you  never  went  shopping — really  shopping — did 
you?  and  bought  everything  you  saw?" 

"Of  course  not.    I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  spree." 

"Well,  that  will  be  lesson  number  two.    Can  you  ride?" 

"Not  well." 

"Must  know  how  to  ride — that's  number  three,  and 
very  important.  I'll  get  you  some  horses  when  we  return. 
We'll  spend  our  mornings  at  Durland's  for  a  while,  and 
I'll  teach  you  to  play  polo,  too.  All  the  girls  are  going 
in  for  it  lately.  You'll  need  an  electric  motor,  I  suppose, 
for  calling  and  shopping — they're  making  some  stunning 
bodies  in  that  wicker  effect.  Now,  what's  your  favorite 
jewel?  I  haven't  had  time  to  get  your  ring  yet — this 
whole  day  was  upside  down.  Everything  had  closed 
before  I  opened  up,  but  to-morrow  we'll  paw  through 
Tiffany's  stock,  and  you  can  choose  what  you  like.  I'm 
going  to  select  a  black-opal  set  for  you — they're  the  newest 
thing  and  the  price  is  scandalous."  He  paused,  eying  her 
curiously,  then  with  a  change  of  tone  inquired,  "Say, 
are  you  in  mourning  for  somebody?" 

"Why,  no." 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  for  all  these  things  I've 
bought." 

Lorelei  laughed  spontaneously,  for  the  first  time  during 
the  long  day.  "Of  course  I  care.  But — where  is  the 
money  coming  from?  You  haven't  a  dollar." 

"My  dear,  so  long  as  the  Western  Union  lasts  you'll 

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never  see  a  wrinkle  on  my  brow.  We'll  begin  by  destroy 
ing  everything  you  own — hats,  gowns,  jewelry — then 
we'll  start  at  the  beginning." 

Just  then  the  apartment  bell  rang.  Bob  went  to  the 
door.  He  returned  with  his  father  at  his  heels.  Mr. 
Wharton  tramped  in  grimly,  nodded  at  his  daughter-in- 
law,  who  had  risen  at  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  then 
ran  his  eyes  swiftly  over  the  surroundings. 

"  I  hear  you've  made  a  fool  of  yourself  again,"  he  began, 
showing  his  teeth  in  a  faint  smile.  "Have  you  given  up 
your  apartment  at  the  Charlevoix?" 

"Not  yet,"  said  Bob.  "We're  considering  a  suite  at 
the  Ritz  for  a  few  days." 

"Indeed.  You're  going  back  to  the  Charlevoix  to 
night." 

Lorelei  started.  She  had  expected  opposition,  but  was 
unprepared  for  anything  so  blunt  and  business-like.  "I 
think  you  and  Bob  can  talk  more  freely  if  I  leave  you 
alone,"  she  said. 

Hannibal  Wharton  replied  shortly:  "No,  don't  leave. 
I'll  talk  freer  with  you  here."  »  *  *• 

It  appeared,  however,  that  Robert  stood  in  no  awe  of 
his  father's  anger;  he  said  lightly: 

"They  never  come  back,  dad.  I'm  a  regular  married 
man.  Lorelei  is  my  royal  consort,  my  yoke-mate,  my  rib. 
We'll  have  to  scratch  the  Charlevoix." 

This  levity  left  the  caller  unmoved;  to  Lorelei  he  ex 
plained: 

"I  want  no  notoriety,  so  all  we  need  talk  about  is 
terms.  You'll  fare  better  by  dealing  directly  with  me  than 
through  lawyers — I'll  fight  a  lawsuit — so  let's  get  down 
to  business.  You  should  realize,  however,  that  these 
settlements  are  never  as  large  as  they're  advertised.  I'll 
pay  you  ten  thousand  dollars  and  stand  the  costs  of  the 
divorce  proceedings." 

"You  are  making  a  mistake,"  she  told  him,  quietly. 

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"I  expected  you  to  refuse,  but  ten  thousand  dollars  is 
better  than  nothing.  Talk  it  over  with  your  people. 
Now,  Bob,  come  with  me." 

"Where?"  demanded  his  son. 

"Anywhere.     You  can't  stay  here." 

"You're  infallible  in  business,  dad,"  Bob  protested, 
"but  where  sentiment  is  concerned  you're  a  terrible 
failure." 

"Not  at  all!  Not  at  all!"  Mr.  Wharton  exclaimed, 
irritably.  "I  know  real  sentiment  when  I  see  it,  and 
I'll  foot  the  bill  for  this  counterfeit,  but  I'm  too  tired  to 
argue." 

Lorelei  was  standing  very  white  and  still;  now  she 
said,  "Don't  you  think  you'd  better  go?" 

The  elder  man  laid  aside  his  hat  and  gloves,  then  spoke 
with  snarling  deliberation.  "I'll  go  when  I  choose.  No 
high  and  mighty  airs  with  me,  if  you  please."  After  a 
curious  scrutiny  of  them  both  he  asked  his  son:  "You 
don't  really  imagine  that  she  married  you  for  anything 
except  your  money,  do  you?" 

"I  flattered^ myself — "  Bob  began,  stiffly. 

"Bah!    You're  drunk." 

"Moderately,  perhaps — or  let  us  say  that  I  am  in  an 
unnaturally  argumentative  mood.  I  take  issue  with 
you.  You  see,  dad,  I've  been  crazy  about  Lorelei  ever 
since  I  first  saw  her,  and — " 

"To  be  sure,  that's  quite  natural.  But  why  in  hell 
did  you  marry  her?  That  wasn't  necessary,  was  it?" 

Lorelei  uttered  a  sharp  cry.  Bob  rose;  his  eyes  were 
bright  and  hard.  Mr.  Wharton  merely  arched  his  shaggy 
brows,  inquiring  quickly  of  the  bride:  "What's  the  mat 
ter?  I  state  the  case  correctly,  do  I  not?" 

"No!"  gasped  Lorelei. 

"Let's  talk  plainly—" 

"That's  a  bit  too  plain,  even  from  you,  dad,"  Bob 
cried,  angrily. 

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"  It's  time  for  plain  speaking.  You  got  drunk,  and  she 
trapped  you.  I'm  here  to  get  you  out  of  the  trap.  It's 
a  matter  of  money,  isn't  it?  Well,  then,  don't  let's  allow 
sentiment  to  creep  in."  Addressing  himself  to  Lorelei, 
he  said:  "You  probably  counted  on  five  times  the  sum 
I  offer,  but  ten  thousand  dollars  will  buy  a  lot  of  clothes, 
and  the  publicity  won't  hurt  you  professionally;  it  11  do 
you  good.  You  might, even  spend  the  winter  in  Europe 
and  catch  another  victim.  I  believe  that's  the  amount 
Merkle  offered  you,  isn't  it?" 

"Merkle?  What  are  you  talking  about?"  Bobdemanded. 

"Did  Mr.  Merkle  tell  you  how  and  why  he  came  to 
make  that  offer?"  asked  Lorelei,  indignantly. 

"No.     But  he  offered  it,  did  he  not?" 

"Yes,  and  I  refused  it.     Ask  him  why?" 

"We  don't  seem  to  be  getting  along  very  well,"  Bob 
interposed.  "Lorelie  is  my  wife  and  your  daughter-in- 
law.  What's  more,  I  love  her;  so  I  guess  that  ends  the 
Reno  chatter."  He  crossed  to  Lorelei's  side  and  encircled 
her  with  his  arm.  "There's  no  price-tag  on  this  mar 
riage,  dad,  and  you'll  regret  what  you've  said." 

Wharton  senior  shrugged  wearily.  "You  tell  him, 
Miss;  maybe  he'll  believe  you." 

"Tell  him  what?"  asked  Lorelei. 

"The  truth,  of  course."  He  paused  for  a  reply,  and, 
receiving  none,  broke  out  wrathfully :  "  Then  I  will.  She's 
a  grafter,  Bob,  and  her  whole  family  are  grafters.  Now, 
let  me  finish.  She  makes  her  living  in  any  way  she  can; 
she  smirks  at  you  out  of  every  catch-penny  advertise 
ment  along  Broadway.  She's  'The  Chewing-Gum  Girl' 
and  'The  Petticoat  Girl'  and  'The  Bath-Tub  Girl'—" 

"There's  nothing  dishonest  in  that." 

"Just  a  minute.  I  won't  have  my  daughter's  face 
grinning  at  me  every  time  I  get  into  a  street-car.  I'd 
be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  country.  It's  legitimate,  per 
haps,  but  it's  altogether  too  damned  colorful  for  me." 

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"Is  that  all  you  have  against  her?" 

"Not  by  any  means.     She's  notorious — " 

"Newspaper  talk!" 

"Is  it?  She's  made  her  living  by  bleeding  men,  by 
taking  gifts  and  renting  herself  out  the  way  she  did  at 
Mammon's  supper.  Men  don't  support  show-girls  from 
chivalrous  motives.  I  had  her  family  looked  up,  and  it 
didn't  take  two  hours.  Listen  to  this  report."  He  ex 
tracted  a  typewritten  sheet  from  his  bill-case,  adjusted 
his  glasses,  and  began  to  read: 

"Peter  Knight:  former  residence  Vale,  New  York.  Held  sev 
eral  minor  offices;  sheriff  for  one  term;  involved  in  scandal  over 
public  works  and  defeated  for  re-election.  Reputation  bad. 
Detailed  record  can  be  had  if  necessary.  Moved  to  this  city 
191 1 ;  clerk  in  Department  of  Water  Supply,  Gas,  and  Electricity 
until  injured  by  taxi-cab  while  intoxicated.  Believed  to  be 
crippled. 

"James  Knight,  son.  Reputation  bad.  Generally  known  as 
a  loafer,  suspected  of  boosting  for  so-called  'wire-tappers'  operat 
ing  on  upper  West  Side  last  spring.  Believed  to  have  some  con 
nection  with  more  than  one  blackmailing  scheme — details  avail 
able.  He  figured  in  recent  scandal  concerning  well-known  finan 
cier  and  actress.  Of  late  employed  as  steerer  for  Max  Melcher's 
gambling -house,  West  Forty -sixth  Street.  Broker  living  at 
Charlevoix  Apartments  reported  to  have  lost  large  sums  through 
his  efforts.  No  police  record  as  yet. 

"Mathilda  Knight,  wife  of  Peter— 

"D'you  want  the  rest?"  Mr.  Wharton  inquired. 

"No!"  Lorelei  gulped. 

'"No  police  record  as  yet' — 'Broker  living  at  the  Char 
levoix  Apartments ' — '  Injured  by  a  taxi-cab  while  intoxi 
cated,'"  quoted  Wharton.  "Scandal,  blackmail,  graft. 
It's  all  here,  Bob.  And  I  hadn't  come  to  this  girl's  rec 
ord.  The  report  was  made  by  one  of  our  own  men,  and 
it's  incomplete,  but  I  can  have  it  elaborated.  What  do 
you  say,  Mrs.  Wharton  f  Is  it  true?" 

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Lorelei  dropped  her  head.    "Most  of  it,  I  dare  say." 

"Did  you  try  to  blackmail  Merkle?" 

"No." 

"Your  mother  and  your  brother  did." 

She  was  silent. 

"They  tried  to  scare  him  into  marrying  you,  did  they 
not?" 

"Hammon  said  something  about  that,"  ejaculated  Bob, 
"but  I  don't  believe — " 

Lorelei  checked  him.     "It's  quite  true." 

"  Merkle  said  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  personally," 
conscientiously  explained  Mr.  Wharton,  "and  I'm  willing 
to  take  his  word.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there." 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence  during  which  he  folded  and 
replaced  the  report;  then  he  shook  his  head,  exclaiming, 
"Second-hand  goods,  my  boy!" 

"That's  a  lie!"    Lorelei's  voice  was  like  a  whip. 

Mr.  Wharton  eyed  her  grimly.  "That's  something  for 
Bob  to  determine — I  have  only  the  indications  to  go  on. 
I  don't  blame  him  for  losing  his  wits — you're  very  good- 
looking — but  the  affair  must  end.  You're  not  a  girl  I'd 
care  to  have  in  my  family — pardon  my  bluntness." 

She  met  his  eyes  fairly.  At  no  time  had  she  flinched 
before  him,  although  inwardly  she  had  cringed  and  her 
flesh  had  quivered  at  his  merciless  attack. 

"You  have  told  Bob  the  truth,"  she  began,  slowly,  "in 
the  worst  possible  way;  you  have  put  me  in  the  most 
unfavorable  light.  I  dare  say  I  never  would  have  had  the 
courage  to  tell  him  myself,  although  he  deserves  to  know. 
I've  been  pretty — commercial — because  I  had  to  be,  but 
I  never  sold  myself,  and  I  sha'n't  begin  now.  Bob  isn't  a 
child;  he's  nearly  thirty  years  old — old  enough  to  make 
up  his  own  mind  —  and  he  must  make  this  decision, 
not  I." 

Bob  opened  his  lips,  but  his  father  forestalled  him. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

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"I  have  no  price.  If  he's  sick  of  the  match  we'll  end 
it,  and  it  won't  cost  you  a  cent." 

Bob  looked  inscrutable;  his  father  smiled  for  the  first 
time  during  the  interview. 

"That's  very  decent  of  you,"  he  said,  "but  of  course  I 
sha'n't  put  the  good  faith  of  your  offer  to  the  test.  I 
don't  want  something  for  nothing.  I'll  take  care  of  you 
nicely." 

Thus  far  Bob  had  yielded  precedence  to  his  father, 
but  he  could  no  longer  restrain  himself.  "Now  let  me 
take  the  chair,"  he  commanded,  easily.  "My  mind  is 
made  up.  You  see,  I  didn't  -marry  '  Peter  Knight,  residence 
Vale/  nor  'James  Knight,  reputation  bad,'  nor  even 
'  Mathilda  Knight,  wife  of  Peter. '  I  married  this  kid,  and 
the  books  are  closed.  You  say  the  Knights  are  a  bad  lot, 
and  Lorelei's  reputation  is  a  trifle  discolored:  maybe 
you're  right,  but  mine  has  some  inky  blots  on  it,  too, 
and  I  guess  the  cleanest  part  of  it  would  just  about  match 
the  darkest  that  hers  can  show.  I  seem  to  have  all  the 
best  of  the  deal." 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  growled  his  father. 

"I'v^  always  been  one — I  may  as  well  be  consistent." 
Bob  felt  the  slender  form  at  his  side  begin  to  tremble, 
and  smiled  down  into  the  troubled  blue  eyes  upturned 
to  his.  "Maybe  we'll  both  have  to  do  some  forgiving 
and  forgetting.  I  believe  that's  usual  nowadays." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  whitewashing  you,"  Hannibal  snapped. 
"She  probably  knows  what  you  are." 

" I  do,"  agreed  Lorelei.  "He's  a — drunkard,  and  every 
thing  that  means.  But  you  taught  him  to  drink  before 
he  could  choose  for  himself." 

Mr.  Wharton  smiled  sneeringly.  "Admirable!  I  begin 
to  see  that  you're  more  than  a  pretty  woman.  Get  his 
sympathy;  it's  good  business.  Now  he'll  think  he  must 
act  the  man.  But  that  will  wear  off.  And  understand 
this :  you  can't  graft  off  me.  You  and  your  family  are  due 

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for  a  great  disappointment.  Bob  hasn't  anything,  and 
he  won't  have  until  I  die,  but  I'm  good  for  thirty  years 
yet.  I'm  not  going  to  disinherit  him.  I'm  merely  going 
to  wait  until  you  both  get  tired.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
poverty  is  the  most  tiresome  thing  in  the  world." 

"We  can  manage,"  said  Lorelei. 

"You  speak  for  yourself,  but  he  can't  make  a  living — 
unless  he  has  something  in  him  that  I  never  discovered. 
I  fear  you'll  find  him  rather  a  heavy  burden." 

Throughout  the  interview  Mr.  Wharton  had  kept  his 
temper  quite  perfectly,  and  his  coolness  at  this  moment 
argued  a  greater  fixity  of  purpose  than  might  have  been 
inferred  from  a  display  of  rage.  He  made  a  final  appeal 
to  his  son:  "Can't  you  see  that  it  won't  do  at  all,  Bob? 
I  won't  stand  parasites,  unless  they're  my  own.  Either 
have  done  with  the  matter  and  let  me  pay  the  charges 
or — go  through  to  the  bitter  finish  on  your  own  feet.  She's 
supporting  three  loafers;  I  dare  say  she  can  take  care  of 
another,  but  it  isn't  quite  right  to  put  it  upon  her — she's 
sure  to  weary  of  it  sometime.  You'll  notice  I've  said 
nothing  about  your  mother  so  far,  but — she's  with  me 
in  this.  I'll  be  in  the  city  for  several  days,  and  I'd  like 
to  have  you  return  to  Pittsburg  with  me  when  I  go. 
Mother  is  expecting  you.  If  you  decide  to  stick  it  out — 
Wharton's  face  showed  more  than  a  trace  of  feeling,  his 
deep  voice  lowered  a  tone — "you  may  go  to  hell,  with 
my  compliments,  and  I'll  sit  on  the  lid  to  keep  you  there." 

He  rose,  took  his  hat,  and  stalked  out  of  the  apartment 
without  so  much  as  a  backward  glance. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHEW!  That  was  a  knockout.  But  who  got 
licked?"  Bob  went  to  the  little  sideboard  and 
helped  himself  to  a  stiff  drink. 

"Did  he  mean  it?" 

"My  dear,  time  wears  away  mountains,  and  rivers 
dry  up,  and  the  whole  solar  system  is  gradually  running 
down,  I  believe;  but  dad  isn't  governed  by  any  natural 
laws  whatsoever.  He's  built  of  reinforced  concrete,  and 
time  hardens  him.  He's  impervious  to  rust  or  decay,  and 
gravity  exerts  no  power  over  him." 

"Then  I  think  you'd  better  make  your  choice  to-night." 

Bob's  eyes  opened.  "I  have.  Don't  you  understand? 
I'm  going  to  stand  pat — that  is,  unless" — he  hesitated,  his 
smile  was  a  bit  uncertain — "unless  you're  sick  of  your 
bargain.  I'm  afraid  you  haven't  come  out  of  the  deal 
very  well.  You  thought  I  was  rich — and  so  did  I  until 
a  moment  ago — but  I'm  not.  I've  run  through  a  good 
deal.  I  don't  blame  you  for  considering  me  a  fine  catch 
or  for  marrying  me.  You  see,  I  never  expected  to  find 
a  girl  who'd  take  me  for  anything  except  my  money,  so 
I'm  not  offended  or  disappointed  or  surprised.  A  bank- 
account  looms  up  just  as  big  on  Fifth  Avenue  as  it  does 
on  Amsterdam,  and  there  aren't  any  more  love  matches 
over  there  than  elsewhere.  I'm  not  blind  to  my  short 
comings,  either;  there  are  a  lot  of  bad  habits  waiting  to 
be  acquired  by  a  chap  with  time  and  money  like  me.  I 
can't  live  without  booze;  I  don't  know  how  to  earn  a 
living;  I'm  a  corking  spendthrift.  That's  one  side. 

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Balanced  against  that,  I  possess  —  let  me  see — I  possess 
a  fair  sense  of  humor.  Not  a  very  even  account,  is  it?" 

For  once  in  his  life  Bob  showed  unmistakable  self- 
consciousness  ;  this  was,  so  far  as  Lorelei  knew,  his  maiden 
effort  to  be  serious.  He  ran  on  hurriedly:  "What  I  mean 
to  convey  is  this:  I  have  no  regrets,  no  questions  to  ask, 
no  reproaches.  I  got  all  I  expected,  and  all  I  was  en 
titled  to  when  I  married  you.  But  it  seems  that  you've 
been  cheated,  and — I'm  ready  to  do  the  square  thing. 
I'll  step  aside  and  give  you  another  chance,  if  you  say  so." 

During  this  little  declaration  Lorelei  had  watched  him 
keenly;  she  appeared  to  be  seriously  weighing  his  offer. 

"I  was  getting  pretty  tired  of  things,"  he  added,  "and 
I  s'pose  I'd  have  wound  up  in  the  D.  T.  parlors  of  some 
highly  exclusive  institution  or  behind  a  bath-room  door 
with  a  gas-tube  in  my  teeth.  But — I  met  you,  and  you 
went  to  my  head.  I  wanted  you  worse  than  I  ever  wanted 
anything — worse  even  than  I  ever  wanted  liquor.  And 
now  I  have  you.  I've  had  you  for  one  day,  and  that's 
something.  I  suppose  it's  silly  to  talk  about  starting 
over — I  don't  want  to  reform  if  I  don't  have  to ;  modera 
tion  strikes  me  as  an  awful  cold  proposition;  but  it  looks 
as  if  reform  were  indicated  if  I'm  to  keep  you.  I'm  just 
an  album  of  expensive  habits,  and — we're  broke.  Maybe 
I  could — do  something  with  myself  if  you  took  a  hand. 
It's  a  good  deal  to  ask  of  a  girl  like  you,  but " — he  regarded 
her  timidly,  then  averted  his  eyes — "if  you  cared  to  try 
it  we  might  make  it  go  for  a  while.  And  you  might  get 
to  care  for  me  a  little — if  I  improve."  Again  he  paused 
hopefully.  "I've  been  as  honest  as  I  know  how.  Now, 
won't  you  be  the  same?" 

Lorelei  roused  herself,  and  spoke  with  quiet  decision. 

"I'll  go  through  to  the  end,  Bob." 

Bob  started  and  uttered  an  inarticulate  word  or  two; 
in  his  face  was  a  light  of  gladness  that  went  to  the  girl's 
heart.  His  name  had  risen  freely  to  her  lips;  he  felt 

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as  if  she  had  laid  her  hand  in  his  with  a  declaration  of 
absolute  trust. 

"You  mean  that?" 

She  nodded.  • 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  gently;  then, 
feeling  her  warm  against  his  breast,  he  burst  the  bonds 
that  had  restrained  him  up  to  this  moment  and  covered 
her  face,  her  neck,  her  hair  with  passionate  caresses. 
For  the  first  time  since  his  delirium  of  the  night  before 
he  abandoned  himself  to  the  hunger  her  beauty  excited, 
and  she  offered  him  no  resistance. 

At  last  she  freed  herself,  and,  straightening  the  disorder 
of  her  hair,  smiled  at  him  mistily. 

"Wait.     Please—" 

"Beautiful!"  His  eyes  were  aflame.  "You're  my 
wife.  Nothing  can  change  that." 

"Nothing  except — yourself.  Now,  you  must  listen  to 
me."  She  forced  him  reluctantly  into  his  chair  and 
seated  herself  opposite.  He  leaned  forward  and  kissed 
her  once  more,  then  seized  her  hand  and  held  it.  At  in 
tervals  he  crushed  his  lips  into  its  pink  palm.  "We  must 
start  honestly,"  she  began.  "  Do  you  mind  if  I  hurt 
you?" 

"You  can't  hurt  me  so  long  as  you  don't — leave  me. 
Your  eyes  have  haunted  me  every  night.  I've  seen  the 
curve  of  your  neck — your  lips.  No  woman  was 
perfect,  so  maddening." 

"Always  that.     You're  not  a  husband  at 
you're  only  a  man."  ^ 

He  frowned  slightly.  zndanfi-rta  ;tod  . 

"That's  what  makes  this  whole ••ma£jte£x?$2j difficult," 
she  went  on.  "Don't  you  see?'/3-{m  }JBri-T0}  .teB-olarfd  m 

He  shook  his  head.  n  jwodB  lliw  teot  Qiti  has 

"You  don't  love  me,  you're  cfeugfc, .^il&T 
altogether  different  to  love.  .  .f{$ 
"  You  show  it.    You  don't 
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"Beauty  may  be  only  a  skin  disease,"  Bob  laughed, 
"but  ugliness  goes  clear  to  the  bone." 

"  I  married  you  for  your  money,  and  you  married  me 
because — I  seemed  physically  perfect — because  my  face 
and  my  body  roused  fires  in  you.  I  think  we  are  both 
pretty  rotten  at  heart,  don't  you?" 

"No.  Anyhow,  I  don't  care  to  think  about  it.  I  never 
won  anything  by  thinking.  Kiss  me  again." 

She  ignored  his  demand,  with  her  shadowy  smile.  "I 
deliberately  traded  on  my  looks;  I  put  myself  up  for  a 
price,  and  you  paid  that  price  regardless  of  everything 
except  your  desires.  We  muddled  things  dreadfully  and 
got  our  deserts.  I  didn't  love  you,  I  don't  love  you  now 
any  more  than  you  love  me;  but  I  think  we're  coming  to 
respect  each  other,  and  that  is  a  beginning.  You  have 
longings  to  be  something  different  and  better;  so  have  I. 
Let's  try  together.  I  have  it  in  me  to  succeed,  but  I'm 
not  sure  about  you." 

"Thanks  for  the  good  cheer." 

"You're  afraid  you  can't  make  a  living  for  us — I  know 
you  can.  I'm  merely  afraid  you  won't." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  believe  the  liquor  will  let  you." 

"Nonsense.    Any  man  can  cut  down." 

"'Cutting  down'  won't  do  for  us,  Bob."  He  thrilled 
anew  at  her  intimate  use  of  his  name.  "The  chemistry  of 
your  body  demands  the  stuff — you  couldn't  be  temperate 
in  anything.  You'll  have  to  quit." 

"All  right.  I'll  quit.  I  divorce  the  demon  rum;  lovers 
once,  but  strangers  now.  I'll  quit  gambling,  too." 

Lorelei  laughed.  "That  won't  strain  your  will-power 
in  the  least,  for  half  my  salary  goes  up  Amsterdam  Avenue, 
and  the  rest  will  about  run  this  flat." 

Her  listener  frowned.  "Forget  that  salary  talk,"  he 
said,  shortly.  "D'you  think  I'd  let  you — support  me? 
D'you  think  I'm  that  kind  of  a  nosegay?  When  I  get  so 

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I  can't  pay  the  bills  I'll  walk  out.  To-morrow  you  quit 
work,  and  we  move  to  the  Ritz — they  know  me  there,  and — 
this  delightful,  home-like  grotto  of  yours  gives  me  the 
colly- wabbles." 

"Who  will  pay  the  hotel?"  Lorelei  smiled. 

"Mr.  George  W.  Bridegroom,  of  course.  I'll  get  the 
money,  never  fear.  I  know  everybody,  and  I've  borrowed 
thousands  of  dollars  when  I  didn't  need  it.  My  rooms  at 
the  Charlevoix  are  full  of  expensive  junk;  I'll  sell  it,  and 
that  will  help.  As  soon  as  we're  decently  settled  I'll 
look  for  a  salaried  job.  Then  watch  my  smoke.  To 
quote  from  the  press  of  a  few  months  hence :  '  The  meteoric 
rise  of  Robert  Wharton  has  startled  the  financial  world, 
surpassing  as  it  does  the  sensational  success  of  his  father. 
Young  Mr.  Wharton  was  seen  yesterday  at  his  Wall 
Street  office  and  took  time  from  his  many  duties  to  mod 
estly  assure  our  representative  that  his  ability  was  in 
herited,  and  merely  illustrates  anew  the  maxim  that 
"a  chip  of  the  old  block  will  return  after  many  days."' 
That  will  please  dad.  He'll  relent  when  I  attribute  my 
success  to  him." 

"You  must  quit  drinking  before  you  begin  work,"  said 
Lorelei. 

"I  have  quit." 

With  a  person  of  such  resilient  temperament,  one  who 
gamboled  through  life  like  a  faun,  argument  was  difficult. 
Bob  Wharton  was  pagan  in  his  joyous  inconsequence; 
his  romping  spirits  could  not  be  damped ;  he  bubbled  with 
the  optimism  of  a  Robin  Goodf  ellow.  Ahead  of  him  he  saw 
nothing  but  dancing  sunshine,  heard  nothing  but  the 
Pandean  pipes.  The  girl  wife  watched  him  curiously. 

"I  wonder  if  you  can,"  she  mused.  "Before  we  begin 
our  new  life  we're  going  to  make  a  bargain,  binding  on 
both  of  us.  You'll  have  to  stop  drinking.  I  won't  live 
with  a  drunkard.  I'll  work  until  you've  mastered  the 
craving." 

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' ' No !"  Bob  declared,  firmly.  "  I'll  take  the  river  before 
I'll  let  you — keep  me.  Why,  if  I— 

Lorelei  rose  and  laid  her  hand  over  his  lips,  saying 

quietly: 

"I'm  planning  our  happiness,  don't  you  understand? 
and  it's,  a  big  stake.  You  must  pocket  your  pride  for 
a  while.  Nobody  will  know.  We've  made  a  botch  of 
things  so  far,  and  there  is  only  one  way  for  us  to  win 
out." 

"A  man  who'd  let  his  wife — " 

"A  man  who  wouldn't  let  his  wife  have  her  way  at 
first  is  a  brute." 

"You  shouldn't  ask  it,"  he  cried,  sullenly. 

"I  don't  ask  it:  I  insist  upon  it.  If  you  refuse  we  can't 
go  on." 

"Surely  you  don't  mean  that?"  He  looked  up  at 
her  with  grave,  troubled  eyes. 

"I  do.  I'm  entirely  in  earnest.  You  haven't  strength 
to  go  out  among  your  friends  and  restrain  yourself.  No 
man  as  far  gone  as  you  could  do  it." 

"I've  a  simpler  way  than  that,"  he  told  her,  after  a 
moment's  thought.  "There  are  institutions  where  they 
straighten  fellows  up.  I'll  go  to  one  of  those." 

"No."  She  rejected  this  suggestion  positively.  "They 
only  relieve;  they  don't  cure.  The  appetite  comes  back. 
This  is  something  you  must  do  yourself,  once  and  for  all. 
You  must  fight  this  out  in  secret;  this  city  is  no  place 
for  men  with  appetites  they  can't  control.  Do  this  for 
me,  Bob,  and — and  I'll  let  you  do  anything  after  that. 
I'll  let  you — beat  me."  Getting  no  response  from  him, 
she  added  gravely,  "It  is  that  or — nothing." 

"I  can't  let  you  go,"  Bob  said,  finally. 

"Good!    We'll  keep  this  apartment  and  I'll  go  on  work 
ing- 
He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groaned.    "Gee!    I'm 
a  rotter." 

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"You  can  sell  your  belongings  at  the  Charlevoix,  and 
we'll  use  the  money.  We'll  need  everything,  for  I  can't 
piece  out  my  salary  the  way  I've  been  doing.  There 
can't  be  any  more  supper-parties  and  gifts — " 

"I  should  hope  not,"  he  growled.  "I'll  murder  the 
first  man  who  speaks  to  you." 

"Then  is  it  a  real,  binding  bargain?" 

"It  is — if  you'll  bind  it  with  another  kiss,"  he  agreed, 
with  a  miserable  attempt  at  cheerfulness.  "But  I  sha'n't 
look  myself  in  the  face." 

For  the  first  time  she  came  to  him  willingly. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  nice  to  be  honest  with  yourself  and 
the  world?"  she  sighed,  after  a  time. 

"Yes,"  he  laughed.  "I'm  sorry  to  cut  the  governor 
adrift,  but  he'll  have  to  get  along  without  our  help." 

Despite  his  jocularity  he  was  deeply  moved.  As  the 
situation  grew  clearer  to  him  he  saw  that  this  girl  was 
about  to  change  the  whole  current  of  his  careless  life ;  her 
unexpected  firmness,  her  gentle,  womanly  determination 
at  this  crisis  was  very  grateful — he  desperately  longed  to 
retain  its  support — and  yet  the  arrangement  to  which  she 
had  forced  his  consent  went  sorely  against  his  grain.  His 
struggle  had  not  been  easy.  Her  surrender  to  him  was  as 
complete  and  as  unselfish  as  his  own  acquiescence  seemed 
unmanly  and  weak.  He  rose  and  paced  the  little  room 
to  relieve  his  feelings.  Days  and  weeks  of  almost  con 
stant  dissipation  had  affected  his  mental  poise  quite  as 
disastrously  as  the  strain  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours  had 
told  upon  his  physical  control,  and  he  was  shaking  ner 
vously.  He  paused  at  the  sideboard  finally  and  poured 
himself  a  steadying  drink. 

Lorelei  watched  his  trembling  fingers  fill  the  glass  be 
fore  she  spoke. 

"You  mustn't  touch  that,"  she  said,  positively. 

"Eh?"  He  turned,  still  frowning  absent-mindedly. 
" Oh,  this?"  He  held  the  glass  to  the  light.  "  You  mean 

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you  want  me  to  begin — now?  A  fellow  has  to  sober  up 
gradually,  my  dear.  I  really  need  a  jolt — I'm  all  un 
strung." 

"I  sealed  the  bargain." 

"But,  Lorelei — "  He  set  the  glass  down  with  a  mirth 
less  laugh.  "Of  course,  I  won't,  if  you  insist.  I  intended 
to  taper  off — a  chap  can't  turn  teetotaler  the  way  he 
turns  a  handspring."  He  eyed  the  glass  with  a  sudden 
intensity  of  longing.  "Let's  begin  to-morrow.  Nobody 
starts  a  new  life  at  two  A.  M.  And  —  it's  all  poured 
out." 

She  answered  by  taking  the  glass  and  flinging  its 
contents  from  the  open  window.  This  done,  she  gath 
ered  the  bottles  from  the  sideboard  —  there  were  not 
many — and,  opening  the  folding-doors  that  masked  the 
kitchenette,  she  up-ended  them  over  the  sink.  When  the 
last  gurgle  had  died  away  she  went  to  her  husband  and 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"You  must,"  she  said,  gently.  "If  you'll  only  let  me 
have  my  way  we'll  win.  But,  Bob,  dear,  it's  going  to  be 
a  bitter  fight." 

Lorelei's  family  spent  most  of  the  night  in  discussing 
their  great  good  fortune.  Even  Jim,  worn  out  as  he  was 
by  his  part  in  the  events  connected  with  the  marriage, 
sat  until  a  late  hour  planning  his  sister's  future,  and  in 
cidentally  his  own.  After  he  had  gone  to  bed  mother  and 
father  remained  in  a  glow  of  exhilaration  that  made  sleep 
impossible,  and  it  was  nearly  dawn  when  they  retired  to 
dreams  of  hopes  achieved  and  ambitions  realized. 

About  nine-thirty  on  the  following  morning,  just  when 
the  rival  Wall  Street  forces  were  gathering,  Hannibal 
Wharton  called  up  the  Knight  establishment. 

Mrs.  Knight  was  impatient  and  at  first  refused  to  be 
disturbed,  but  when  the  servant  at  last  made  it  plain 
that  it  was  Hannibal  C.  Wharton,  not  his  son  Robert, 

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mustn't  touch  that,"  she  said,  positively.     "Eh 
fellow  has  to  sober  up  gradually,  my  dear.     I  reall; 


Oh,  this?    You  mean  you  want  me  to  begin — now?    A 
need  a  jolt — I'm  all  unstrung." 


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calling,  she  leaped  from  her  bed  with  the  agility  of  an 
acrobat. 

"Peter,"  she  cried,  "it's  Mr.  Wharton  himself!" 

Peter  likewise  awoke  to  a  tremendous  excitement. 
"He  probably  wants  to  get  acquainted,"  exclaimed  the 
invalid.  "Tell  him  to  come  right  up.  I  can  see  him 
any  time." 

His  wife  was  nervously  pinning  up  her  straggling  hair, 
as  if  she  feared  the  millions  of  the  steel  baron  gave  him 
the  occult  power  to  direct  his  vision  along  the  wire. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  him?"  she  gasped.  "I  suppose 
I'll  have  to  call  on  him  and  Mrs.  Wharton,  but  I  haven't  a 
thing  to  wear." 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  mention  money,"  implored 
Peter.  "Try  to  be  pleasant  for  once  in  your  life.  Better 
let  me  talk  to  him." 

But  at  this  suggestion  Mrs.  Knight  flared  up  angrily. 
"You  stay  where  you  are!"  she  snapped.  "I  know  how 
to  handle  rich  people." 

"Mathilda,"  he  shouted,  as  she  hurried  from  the  room, 
her  slippers  slapping  loosely,  a  discolored  wrapper  clutched 
over  her  bony  chest,  "when  he  talks  about  Lorelei, 
cry  for  him.  She's  our  only  daughter  and  our  only  sup 
port,  see?  We  can't  bear  to  let  her  go.  If  you'd  only 
help  me  to  the  'phone — " 

The  retort  that  came  back  was  shrewish,  but  the  next 
instant  Mathilda's  voice  became  as  honey. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wharton?"  she  was  bubbling. 
"I  didn't  mean  to  keep  you  waiting,  but  I  couldn't  imag 
ine  .  .  .  Yes,  this  is  Lorelei's  mother.  I'm  all  upset  over 
the  marriage,  and  of  course  you  are,  too ;  but  young  people 
do  the  strangest  things  nowadays,  don't  they?  We  for 
gave  them,  of  course — one  couldn't  be  angry  with  Robert, 
he's  such  a  ...  What?" 

Peter  Knight  let  himself  back  into  his  bed  with  a  feeble 
curse.  Women  were  such  hysterical  fools.  What  man 

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could  swallow  that  sickly  society  tone?  Then  he  lifted 
himself  again,  round-eyed  with  apprehension.  In  that 
attitude  he  remained  frozen. 

"Why,  Mr.  Wharton!"  came  echoing  through  the  door. 
"How  can  you  say  such  a  thing?  .  .  .  We  knew  nothing 
about  it.  ...  We  did  not.  .  .  .  She's  a  good  girl.  .  .  .  I'll 
have  you  understand  you're  talking  to  her  mother.  .  .  . 
He  is  not;  Jim  is  a  ...  Oh!  ...  You  talk  like  an  old 
fool I  ...  You  ..." 

The  sickly  society  tone  was  no  longer  in  evidence. 
Mathilda's  voice  was  shrill  and  furious;  it  rose  higher 
with  every  second.-  Peter  shouted;  he  struggled  with  the 
bed-clothes.  Meanwhile  his  wife  appeared  to  be  having 
a  fit.  Had  a  grounded  wire  poured  an  electric  shock  into 
her  body  she  could  not  have  clung  to  the  instrument  with 
more  desperate  tenacity.  She  writhed;  her  broken  cries 
were  plainly  wrung  from  her  by  nothing  less  than  agony. 

At  last  there  came  a  cessation  of  her  incoherence  and 
a  tinkling  of  the  bell  as  she  furiously  vibrated  the 
hook. 

"Hello!  .  .  .  Hello!  .  .  .  Central.  .  .  .  My  party  rang  off. 
.  .  .  Hello!" 

The  door  of  Jim's  room  burst  open. 

"What  the  devil?"  he  cried. 

"Mathilda!     Mathilda!"  wailed  Peter. 

Mrs.  Knight  rushed  into  her  husband's  presence  like 
a  destroying  angel.  Jim  followed  in  his  pajamas.  She 
was  more  disheveled  than  ever,  her  eyes  were  rolling,  her 
cheeks  were  livid,  her  hair  seemed  to  bristle  from  its 
fastenings.  She  was  panting  in  a  labored  effort  to  relieve 
her  feelings. 

"What's  the  matter,  ma?" 

"Matter?  Hell!  That  was  Hannibal  Wharton!" 
stormed  the  invalid. 

"It's— all  over,"  shrilled  Mrs.  Knight.  "He  won't 
have  it.  He's  cut  them  off.  He  called  me  a — a — " 

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Once  more  she  choked  in  her  rage;  her  teeth  chattered. 
"Bob's  broke!'! 

"Wait  a  minute,"  Jim  cried,  roughly.  "Let's  hear  all 
about  it  before  you  bite  somebody.  Is  Wharton  sore?" 

"He's  crazy.  He  said  we  trapped  Bob.  He  called  us 
grafters  and  thieves  and  blackmailing  parasites — " 

"Rats!     Bob's  got  money  of  his  own." 

"Not  a  cent.  He's  in  debt.  And  the  old  man  won't 
give  him  a  dollar  until  he's  divorced." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  protested  Jim. 

Peter  mocked  at  them,  his  bloated,  pasty  face  con 
vulsed  with  anger.  "Fine  job  you  made  of  it,  you  two. 
So  this  is  your  grand  match.  This  is  how  you  put  us  on 
Easy  Street,  eh?  You  married  the  girl  to  a  bum.  Why 
didn't  you  look  him  up?" 

"Why  didn't  you?"  screamed  his  wife.  "You  didn't 
say  anything.  Everybody  thinks  he's  rich — " 

"He  is,  too,"  Jim  asserted.  "He  must  be.  Old  Whar 
ton  is  bluffing,  but —  We'll  find  out.  Get  into  your  dress, 
ma.  We'll  see  Bob.  I've  got  an  ace  buried,  and  if  that 
dirty  loafer  sold  us  out  I'll  put  him  over  the  jumps.  He 
can't  double-cross  me,  understand;  I've  got  the  goods  on 
him,  and  on  all  of  'em." 

"Oh,  we've  been  double-crossed,  all  right,"  sneered 
Peter.  "  Lorelei's  down  and  out  now.  She's  no  good  any 
more.  I  guess  you'll  listen  to  me  next  time." 

His  son  turned  upon  him  furiously,  crying: 

".Shut  up!  Or  I'll—"  He  left  his  threat  unfinished 
and  rushed  back  to  his  room,  muttering  under  his  breath. 
As  he  flung  himself  into  his  clothes  he  could  hear  the 
quarrel  still  raging  between  the  other  two,  and  he  lifted 
his  clenched  hands  above  his  head  with  an  oath. 

"Fuss,  fight,  and  fury,"  he  wailed.  "Fine  place  for 
a  nervous  guy!  If  I  don't  end  in  a  mad-house  I'll  be 
lucky." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ON  the  way  to  the  Elegancia  Mrs.  Knight  recounted 
in  greater  detail  and  with  numerous  digressions  and 
comments  what  Hannibal  Wharton  had  said  to  her. 
Not  only  had  he  given  full  vent  to  his  anger  at  the  mar 
riage,  but  he  had  allowed  himself  the  pleasure  of  express 
ing  a  frank  opinion  of  the  entire  Knight  family  in  all  its 
unmitigated  and  complete  badness.  Mrs.  Knight  her 
self  he  had  called  a  blood-sucker,  it  seemed — the  good 
woman  shook  with  rage  at  the  memory — and  he  had 
threatened  her  with  the  direst  retribution  if  she  persisted 
in  attempting  to  fasten  herself  upon  him.  Bob,  he  had 
explained,  was  a  loafer  whom  he  had  supported  out  of 
a  sense  of  duty;  if  the  idiot  was  ungrateful  he  would 
simply  have  to  suffer  the  consequences.  But  Bob's 
mother  felt  the  disgrace  keenly,  and  on  her  account  Han 
nibal  had  expressed  himself  as  willing  to  ransom  the 
young  fool  for,  say,  ten  thousand  dollars. 

"Disgrace,  eh?  Ten  thousand  dollars?"  Jim  growled. 
"What  does  he  think  we  are,  anyhow?  Why,  that  ain't 
cigarette  money." 

"I  never  was  so  insulted  in  my  life,"  stormed  Mrs. 
Knight.  "You  should  have  heard  him!" 

With  a  show  of  confidence  not  entirely  real  Jim  re 
joined:  "Now,  ma,  don't  heat  up.  Everybody  forgets 
me,  but  I'm  going  to  draw  cards  in  this  game." 

The  interview  that  followed  their  arrival  at  Lorelei's 
home  was  far  from  pleasant,  for  Mrs.  Knight  was  still  too 
indignant  to  leave  the  discussion  in  Jim's  more  capable 

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hands;  and  Lorelei,  wishing  Bob  to  cherish  no  illusions, 
allowed  her  relatives  to  make  a  complete  and  distressing 
exhibition  of  their  greed.  At  his  first  opportunity  Bob 
explained  rather  briefly: 

"I  offered  Lorelei  her  freedom  last  night  when  my  in 
come  was  amputated." 

"You've  had  time  to  think  it  over,"  his  wife  interposed. 
"Do  you  still  want  me?" 

"Why,  of  course.     And  you?" 

She  shrugged.  "I  don't  change  in  one  night.  Now — 
I  wish  you  and  Jim  would  leave  mother  and  me — " 

Bob  acquiesced,  glad  to  escape  even  in  company  with 
his  redoutable  brother-in-law.  When  he  and  Jim  had 
gone  Mrs.  Knight  addressed  Lorelei  with  motherly 
candor. 

"He's  a  pleasant  fellow,  of  course,  and  he's  crazy  about 
you;  but  don't  let's  be  sentimental.  If  there's  no  chance 
to  make  it  up  with  his  family  we  must  get  out  of  this  mess 
and  save  what  we  can." 

"Was  Mr.  Wharton  very  angry?" 

" 'Was  he?"  Mrs.  Knight  rolled  her  eyes  in  mingled 
rage  and  despair.  "I'm  positively  sick  over  the  things  he 
said.  Everybody  seems  to  be  against  us,  and — I'm  almost 
ready  to  give  up.  But  at  least  you  saved  your  good 
name — it  was  a  marriage,  not  a  scandal.  We  have  that 
to  be  thankful  for."  She  followed  this  outburst  of  opti 
mism  with  another.  "You  can  keep  the  name  and  go  into 
vaudeville.  The  publicity  will  help  you,  and  that  old 
crank  will  surely  stretch  his  offer  to  keep  his  name  off 
the  bill-boards.  Of  course,  we  won't  get  anything  like 
what  we  expected,  but  we'll  get  something.  Fifteen  or 
twenty  thousand  is  better  than — "  Noting  the  shadow 
of  a  smile  upon  her  daughter's  lips,  she  checked  her  rush 
of  words.  "You  don't  seem  to  care  what — " 

"I  don't." 

Mrs.  Knight's  face  twisted  into  an  expression  of  pained 

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incredulity.  "Surely  you  don't  mean  to  live  with  Bob?" 
she  gasped.  "Not — now." 

"I  do  mean  to." 

The  mother's  lips  parted,  closed,  parted  again — she 
seemed  to  taste  something  unspeakably  bitter.  She 
groped  for  words  to  fit  her  state  of  mind,  but  words  failed 
her.  When  she  did  speak,  however,  the  weakness  of 
her  vocabulary  was  offset  by  the  shrill  tone  of  her  sur 
prise.  "My  dear!  Why,  my  dear!  He  hasn't  a  cent.  Of 
course  you're  quite  confused  now — you've  been  through 
a  lot,  and  you  think  he's  the  only  man  in  the  world — but 
it's  impossible.  It's  absurd.  The  marriage  was  only  a 
form.  You're  no  more  his  wife  in  the  sight  of  God 
than—" 

"Let's  not  talk  about  God,"  cried  Lorelei.  "That 
ceremony  was  scarcely  legal,  not  to  speak  of  religion  or 
decency." 

"You've  lost  your  mind.    You've  changed  completely." 

"Yes,  I  have.  You  see,  I  wasn't  a  wife  until  yesterday — 
until  Bob  and  I  had  an  understanding;  but  I  am  a  wife 
now,  and  I  suppose  I'll  never  be  a  girl  again.  I've  begun 
to  think  for  myself,  mother;  I've  begun  to  understand. 
I've  had  a  suspicion  that  my  old  ideas  were  wrong,  and 
they  were." 

"Fiddle-de-dee!  You're  hysterical.  You  can't  make 
me  believe  you  learned  to  love  that  man." 

"I  don't  say  I  love  him." 

Mrs.  Knight  snorted  her  triumph  loudly.  "Then  you 
mustn't  live  with  him  another  moment.  My  dear  child, 
such  a  relationship  is — well,  think  it  out  for  yourself." 

Lorelei  saw  the  futility  of  argument,  but  certain 
thoughts  demanded  expression,  and  she  voiced  them,  as 
much  for  her  own  sake  as  for  her  mother's.  "It's  too 
late  to  talk  about  that  kind  of  honor.  But  there's  another 
kind.  When  I  married  Bob  I  sold  myself;  and  all  of 
us — I  mean  the  family — knew  that  what  I  sold  was 

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counterfeit.  He  thought  he  was  getting  something  more 
than  my  body,  but  we  knew  he  wasn't,  and  now  that 
we  find  we  took  bad  money  for  a  worthless  article,  how 
can  we  pretend  to  be  swindled?  When  people  try  to 
cheat,  and  get  cheated  themselves,  what  do  they  do? 
If  they're  game  they  smile  and  take  their  medicine, 
don't  they?" 

It  was  plain  that  this  form  of  logic  impressed  the  listener 
not  at  all.  Lorelei  continued: 

"I've  learned  that  marriage  is  more  than  I  considered 
it,  mother.  It's  an  obligation.  I  intend  to  live  up  to  my 
part  just  as  long  as  Bob  lives  up  to  his.  If  he  complained 
of  the  fraud  we  practised  on  him  I'd  be  willing  to  leave 
him;  but  he  doesn't — so  the  matter  is  out  of  our  hands." 

Mrs.  Knight  relieved  her  steadily  increasing  anger  by 
a  harsh  outburst. 

"I  never  thought  you  could  be  so  silly,  after  the  way 
you  were  raised.  You  talk  about  obligations;  what  about 
your  obligation  to  your  parents?  Didn't  we  give  up 
everything  for  you?  Didn't  Peter  sacrifice  his  life's  work 
to  give  you  an  opportunity?" 

"I'll  keep  on  sharing  my  salary  with  you." 

"Salary!"  Mrs.  Knight  spat  out  the  word.  "After 
all  our  plans!  Salary!  My  God!" 

"You're  probably  just  as  honest  in  your  ideas  as  I 
am  in  mine,"  Lorelei  told  her.  "I  sha'n't  allow  you  to- 
wan  t  for — " 

"I  should  hope  not,  since  you're  to  blame  for  Peter's 
condition —  Oh,  you  know  you  are!  If  you  hadn't 
wanted  a  career  he'd  still  be  in  Vale,  a  strong,  healthy 
man  instead  of  a  cripple." 

"I  didn't  want  a  career,"  Lorelei  denied  with  heat. 
"And  father  almost  had  to  leave  Vale." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  He  was  a  big  man  there.  'Had 
to  leave  Vale,'  eh?  So  you've  turned  against  your  own 
blood,  and  disparage  your  father —  Anyhow,  he  was 
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hurt  while  he  was  working  to  give  you  a  start,  and  now 
he's  helpless.  Who  waits  on  him?  I  do.  If  I  believed 
in  prayers  I'd  pray  that  you  may  never  have  a  child 
to  disappoint  you  as  you've  disappointed  him  and  me." 
Her  voice  quavered  as  she  tried  for  pathos,  but  her  fury 
was  still  too  fresh  to  be  entirely  restrained,  and  it  scalded 
her  like  vitriol.  "If  Bob  Wharton  was  half  a  man  he'd 
step  aside;  but  of  course  he  won't  until  he's  had  enough 
of  your  beauty.  That's  all  he  wants,  your  beauty — 
and  you'll  be  fool  enough  to  let  him  hare  it  for  nothing. 
I'm  sure  I  wish  you  joy  with  the  selfish  wretch  and  with 
your  new-fangled  ideas  of  wifely  devotion.  This  will 
kill  Peter.  You'll  have  his  death  on  your  conscience. 
Think  that  over,  now  that  you're  so  fond  of  thinking. 
Ten  thousand  dollars  right  now  would  save  his  life. 
Think  that  over,  too,  when  your  own  father  is  dead  and 
gone." 

White  with  anger,  sick  with  disappointment,  Mrs. 
Knight  whisked  herself  out  of  the  apartment. 

Bob  returned  in  excellent  spirits — nothing  had  power 
permanently  to  dampen  his  cheerfulness — and,  seizing 
Lorelei's  hand,  he  slipped  a  diamond  ring  upon  her  third 
finger,  then  a  plain  gold  band  over  that. 

"Now  we're  legally  wrapped  up  in  the  same  package 
and  labeled  'Wed,'"  he  declared.  "I've  been  terribly 
embarrassed." 

"How  did  you  manage  to  buy  these?"  Lorelei  inquired, 
with  some  curiosity. 

"I  earned  the  money.  Fact!  It  was  a  premium  on 
abstinence.  I  met  a  friend;  he  invited  me  to  drink;  I 
refused;  friend  was  stunned.  Before  he  recovered  I  ran 
through  his  pockets  like  a  pet  squirrel.  It  beats  a  mask 
and  a  lead  pipe." 

"We  can't  begin  this  way,"  she  laughed.  "  I  love  pretty 
things,  and  this  is  your  first  gift"— she  kissed  the  soli- 

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taire — "but  please  don't  give  me  anything  more  for  a 
while.  I'm  not  going  to  lecture  you  nor  wear  a  long  face 
nor  find  fault — ever — we're  going  to  wear  smiles  while 
our  experiment  lasts.  To-morrow  is  Sunday — will  you 
take  me  somewhere?" 

"Will  I?"  Bob  cried,  in  delight.  "I'll  hire  a  car  and 
we'll  motor  up  to  Tuxedo.  There's  a  dandy  crowd  out 
there.  We'll  take  Adoree  and  the  Immaculate  Critic, 
and  we'll  have  dinner  at  the  club.  Campbell  can  show 
the  latest  effects  in  negligees,  and — " 

"That's  too  expensive;  let's  all  go  to  Coney  Island." 

"Coney?    How  do  you  get  there?" 

"I  don't  know.    Will  you  go?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  want  to!  I  dare  say  we'll  meet 
some  of  the  best  steamfitters  in  the  city.  We'll  patronize 
everything  from  the  Mystic  Maze  to  the  Trained  Fleas; 
we'll  Bump  the  Bumps  and  you'll  throw  your  arms 
around  me  and  scream,  and  we'll  ,look  at  the  Incubator 
Babies  and  blush.  I  can't  wait." 

Strangely  enough,  the  news  of  Bob  Wharton's  marriage 
had  not  leaked  into  the  papers  up  to  this  time,  and 
Lorelei,  having  regard  for  the  feelings  of  his  parents, 
insisted  that  he  help  her  to  keep  the  matter  secret  as  long 
as  possible.  Bob  rebelled  at  first,  for  he  adored  publicity. 
He  rejoiced  in  his  newest  exploit  and  desired  his  world 
to  hear  of  it,  while  the  prospect  of  further  mortifying 
his  father  was  so  agreeable  that.it  required  much  persua 
sion  to  make  him  relinquish  it.  With  her  own  family 
Lorelei  had  less  difficulty,  for  they  were  by  no  means 
eager  to  advertise  their  bad  bargain  and  had  withdrawn 
behind  a  stiff  restraint,  leaving  the  couple  to  their  own 
devices.  This  attitude  spared  the  bride  much  unpleasant 
notoriety,  enabling  her  to  pursue  her  work  at  the  theater 
without  comment. 

Bob's  society  proved  in  some  ways  a  welcome  change 
from  the  sordid  drabness  of  her  own  relatives,  for  he  was 

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colorful,  versatile,  and  nearly  always  good-humored.  He 
kept  Lorelei  entertained,  at  least,  and  if  at  times  he  pro 
voked  her  it  was  only  as  a  mischievous  boy  tries  the  pa 
tience  of  a  parent.  He  was  weirdly  prankish;  serious 
happenings  reacted  strangely  upon  him.  Misfortune 
aroused  in  him  a  wild  hilarity;  cares  excited  mirth.  He 
bore  his  responsibilities  lightly  and  displayed  them  to  his 
friends  with  the  same  profound  pride  with  which  a  small 
boy  exhibits  a  collection  of  beetles,  but  they  meant  noth 
ing  more. 

Lorelei  realized  before  long  that  this  very  jocundity 
of  his,  since  it  fed  upon  constant  change  and  excitement, 
constituted  the  gravest  menace  to  their  happiness.  The 
man  lived  entirely  outside  of  himself;  he  utterly  lacked 
the  power  of  self-amusement,  and,  although  he  seemed 
content  when  she  was  near,  during  the  long  hours  of  her 
absence  he  was  like  a  fretful  child.  He  refused  to  frequent 
the  theater,  ostensibly  because  of  their  secret,  in  reality 
because  of  his  shame  at  allowing  her  to  work.  As  Lorelei 
came  to  know  him  better  and  to  understand  the  conflicting 
forces  within  him,  she  began  to  wonder  how  long  he 
could  hold  himself  true  to  his  bargain. 

During  the  first  week  of  their  married  life  his  system 
struggled  to  throw  off  the  effects  of  his  recent  dissipations, 
and  in  consequence  it  craved  only  rest.  Greatly  encour 
aged  by  this  lack  of  desire,  he  boasted  that  the  battle  was 
already  won,  and  Lorelei  pretended  to  agree  with  him. 

She  did  not  deceive  herself,  however,  and  a  brief  experi 
ence  convinced  her  that  to  be  merely  a  wife  to  one  of 
Bob's  vagrant  disposition  was  not  enough;  that  in  order 
to  keep  his  new  self  alive  she  must  also  be  his  sweetheart, 
his  chum,  and  his  partner.  If  she  failed  in  any  one  of 
these  roles  disaster  was  bound  to  follow.  But  to  succeed 
in  them  all,  when  there  was  no  love  to  strengthen  her,  was 
by  no  means  easy.  Always  she  felt  a  great  emptiness, 
and  a  disappointment  that  her  life  had  been  so  crookedly 

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fashioned:  sometimes  she  even  felt  degraded,  and  won 
dered  if  she  were  doing  right,  after  all.  Reason  argued 
that  to  live  with  a  man  she  did  not  love  was  immoral, 
and  the  mere  fact  that  she  and  Bob  were  legally  married 
gave  her  no  comfort  whatever.  There  had  been  nothing 
sacred  in  their  union ;  she  supposed  that  the  courts  would 
dissolve  it  if  the  truth  became  known. 

More  than  once  Lorelei  had  spurned  offers  far  more 
profitable  and  no  less  holy  than  that  existing  between 
her  and  Bob,  and  it  seemed  to  her  now  that  the  differ 
ence  between  mistress  and  wife  must  lie  in  something 
besides  the  mutterings  of  a  sleepy  Hoboken  court  officer. 
Just  where  the  line  of  demarcation  lay,  however,  or  upon 
which  side  of  that  line  she  stood,  she  could  not  determine. 

In  the  course  of  a  fortnight  Bob  began  to  grow  restless. 
One  evening  when  he  came  for  her  she  saw  that  he  was 
nervous;  a  strained,  tired  look  had  crept  into  his  eyes, 
and  she  thought  she  understood.  Nevertheless  his  spirits 
were  ebullient.  When  they  reached  home  he  ushered 
her  into  the  apartment  with  a  flourish,  and  Lorelei  was 
amazed  to  find  their  table  set  with  strange  linen,  silver, 
and  china  and  the  dining-room  decorated  as  if  for  a  party. 

"Who's  coming?    What  on  earth?"  she  exclaimed. 

"A  little  surprise.  A  supper  for  just  you  and  me,  my 
dear." 

Two  strangers,  evidently  caterer's  men,  were  completing 
the  final  preparations  for  an  extravagant  banquet.  Noting 
a  collection  of  wine-glasses  at  each  place,  Lorelei  glanced 
at  Bob  reproachfully,  but  he  only  laughed,  saying: 

"Take  heart.  The  liquid  diet  is  all  a  bluff.  Kindly 
note  the  centerpiece." 

She  saw  that  the  center  of  the  table  was  occupied  by 
a  highly  decorated  silver  wine-cooler — empty. 

"There  it  sits,"  Bob  exclaimed,  "the  little  Temple 
of  Bacchus — overgrown  with  roses.  It  used  to  be  my 
shrine  and  my  confessional  until  I  saw  the  light.  Now 

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that  I've  escaped  from  the  bondage  of  sin,  sickness,  and 
error,  I'm  giving  a  triumphal  feast  upon  the  altar  steps." 

It  was  one  of  his  whims.  During  the  meal  he  made 
elaborate  speeches  in  the  names  of  his  friends.  His 
imaginary  guests  congratulated  him;  in  empty  glasses 
they  toasted  the  bride,  they  extolled  her  beauty,  they 
praised  his  own  gallantry,  and  vaunted  his  conquest  of 
the  demon  rum.  As  the  supper  progressed  Bob  simulated 
a  growing  intoxication,  while  the  hired  servants  looked 
on  as  if  at  the  antics  of  a  lunatic.  He  made  it  amusing, 
and  Lorelei  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  make-believe. 
But  when  they  were  alone  and  all  traces  of  the  feast  had 
disappeared  he  swooped  down  out  of  the  clouds  and 
confessed  miserably: 

"I  thought  I  could  kid  myself,  but  I  can't.  I  want 
a  drink.  I — want — a — drink!  God!  how  I  want  it!" 

Lorelei  went  swiftly  to  him.  "The  fight  is  just  begin 
ning,  Bob.  You're  doing  nobly." 

"It  isn't  thirst,"  he  explained,  and  she  saw  that  same 
strained  uneasiness  in  his  bright  eyes.  "I'm  not  thirsty — 
I'm  shaky  inside.  My  ego  is  wabbling  on  its  pins  and 
I'm  rattling  to  pieces.  I  manage  well  enough  when  you're 
around,  but  when  I'm  alone  I — remember."  She  felt 
him  twitch  and  shiver  nervously.  "And  there  are  so 
many  places  to  get  booze!  Everywhere  I  look  I  see  a 
bartender  with  arms  outstretched.  When  I  grit  my 
teeth  the  damned  appetite  leaves  me  alone,  but  when 
I'm  off  my  guard  it  gumshoes  in  again.  I  get  tired  of 
fighting." 

Lorelei  nodded  sympathetically.  "That's  why  it's  so 
hard  to  reform;  one's  conscience  tires,  but  temptation  is 
always  fresh." 

"It's  not  thirst,"  Bob  repeated.  "My  soul  is  dried 
out.  I  get  to  thinking  late  at  night.  I'm  afraid  I'm 
going  to  quit." 

"You  must  keep  busy." 

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D 


URING  the  meal  he  made  elaborate  speeches  in  the  names 
extolled  her  beauty,  and  vaunted  his  conquest  of  the 


of  his  friends.     In  empty  glasses  they  toasted  the  bride,  they 
demon  rum. 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"I'm  going  to  work." 

"No,  no!  Not  yet,"  she  cried,  quickly.  "You  must 
fight  it  out  where  I  can  help." 

Bob  smiled  gratefully.  "You're  a  thoroughbred.  I 
promised  to  let  you  have  your  way,  and  you  shall.  Even 
if  we  lose  the  patient  it  will  be  a  dandy  operation." 

Beginning  with  the  next  morning  Lorelei  inaugurated 
a  change  in  the  domestic  routine.  Every  day  thereafter 
she  and  Bob  took  a  long  walk.  He  rebelled,  of  course,  as 
soon  as  the  novelty  wore  off,  for  he  detested  walking. 
So  did  she,  for  that  matter,  but  she  pretended  to  like 
it,  and  her  simulated  zest  overcame  his  reluctance.  They 
did  not  amble  aimlessly  about  the  streets ;  she  led  him  on 
purposeful  tramps  that  kept  them  in  the  open  air  most 
of  the  day,  and,  although  her  feet  blistered  until  she  could 
hardly  drag  herself  to  the  theater  when  night  came,  she 
persisted.  In  time  the  walking  grew  to  be  a  dreadful  task; 
it  took  all  her  determination,  but  she  would  not  give  up. 

With  admirable  craft  she  gradually  won  him  away  from 
the  cafe's,  assuming  delight  in  household  duties  that  she 
was  far  from  feeling.  In  reality  she  was  a  wretched  cook, 
but  she  declared  her  intention  of  becoming  an  expert  and 
insisted  upon  preparing  at  least  two  of  their  daily  meals, 
at  which  time  she  saw  to  it  that  Bob  ate  more  sweets  and 
more  salt  foods  than  he  was  accustomed  to.  The  former 
took  the  place  of  alcohol,  the  latter  roused  a  healthy  thirst, 
and  thirsty  men  drink  water.  These  were  only  little 
things;  her  heaviest  task  lay  in  keeping  his  mind  occu 
pied.  At  times  this  was  easy;  again  the  effort  wore  her 
out.  Bob  began  to  have  surly  spells. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Lorelei  really  worked,  and 
worked  not  for  herself,  but  for  another.  Although  the 
experience  was  interesting  in  its  novelty,  the  result  re 
mained  unsatisfactory,  for  not  only  did  love  fail  to  respond 
to  these  sacrifices,  but  she  could  see  no  improvement  in 
Bob's  condition.  The  thing  she  fought  was  impalpable, 

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yet  enormous;  it  was  weak,  yet  strong;  it  seemed  to  sleep, 
yet  it  was  ever  awake. 

Of  necessity  the  two  lived  in  the  closest  intimacy,  than 
which  nothing  is  ordinarily  more  fatal  to  domestic  hap 
piness.  But  Bob  was  unique;  he  did  not  tire;  he  began 
to  rely  upon  Lorelei  as  a  sick  man  leans  upon  his  nurse, 
and  to  worship  her  as  a  man  worships  his  sweetheart. 
There  was  more  than  passion  in  his  endearments  now. 

But  it  was  discouraging  to  the  girl,  who  gained  no 
strength  from  her  penance  and  derived  no  satisfaction 
whatever  in  service  for  service's  sake.  The  whole  ar 
rangement  tried  her  patience  desperately;  she  was  weary 
in  mind  and  body,  and  looked  back  with  regret  upon  her 
former  easy  life.  There  was  no  time  now  for  recreation 
— Bob  had  to  be  amused.  Salary-day  assumed  a  new  im 
portance,  and  she  began  to  count  the  cost  of  every  pur 
chase. 

So  spring  went  and  midsummer  came.  It  was  terribly 
hot  in  the  city;  the  nights  were  breathless,  the  days  were 
glaring,  and  this  heat  was  especially  trying  to  one  in  Bob's 
condition.  In  his  periods  of  gaiety  he  showered  his  wife 
with  attentions  and  squandered  every  dollar  he  could  bor 
row  in  presents  for  her ;  in  his  hours  of  depression  he  was 
everything  strange,  morose,  and  irritable. 

Without  her  knowledge  he  applied  to  his  old  firm  for  a 
salaried  position  and  was  refused.  He  appealed  to  Merkle 
with  the  same,  result,  but  succeeded  in  borrowing  a  thou 
sand  dollars,  with  which  he  bought  Lorelei  a  set  of  black 
opals,  going  into  debt  for  half  the  price. 


CHAPTER  XX 

T  ORELEFS  family  continued  to  smart  under  a  sense 
I— y  of  bitter  injustice,  but  although  they  kept  aloof 
they  were  by  no  means  uninterested  in  her  experiment. 
On  the  contrary,  they  watched  it  with  derisive  enjoyment, 
predicting  certain  failure.  After  Hannibal  Wharton's  in 
sult  Jim  was  all  for  a  prompt  revenge,  but  he  could  not  de 
termine  just  how  to  use  his  dangerous  knowledge  to  the 
best  advantage.  He  considered  the  advisability  of  en 
listing  the  aid  of  Max  Melcher;  but,  not  liking  the  thought 
of  dividing  the  loot,  he  decided  provisionally  to  engineer 
a  separation  between  Bob  and  Lorelei. 

His  desire  to  make  mischief  arose  in  only  a  slight  de 
gree  from  resentment — Jim's  method  of  making  a  living 
had  long  since  dulled  the  edge  of  feeling — it  was  merely 
the  first  step  in  a  comprehensive  scheme.  With  Bob  and 
Lorelei  estranged,  a  divorce  would  follow,  and  divorces 
were  profitable.  A  divorce,  moreover,  would  open  the 
way  for  a  second  inroad  upon  the  Wharton  wealth,  for 
with  Lorelei's  skirts  clear  Jim  could  proceed  with  a  larger 
scheme  of  extortion,  based  on  the  Hammon  murder. 

One  evening  after  Lorelei  had  gone  to  the  theater  Jim 
appeared  at  the  apartment  and  found  Bob  in  a  mood  so 
restless  and  irritable  that  he  dared  not  go  out. 

"I  had  a  hunch  you  were  lonesome,"  the  caller  began, 
"so  I  came  up  to  whittle  and  spit  at  the  stove." 

Now  Jim  could  be  agreeable  when  he  chose;  his  para 
sitic  life  had  developed  in  him  a  certain  worldly  good- 
fellowship;  he  was  frankly  unregenerate,  and  he  had 

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sufficient  tact  never  to  apologize  nor  to  explain.     There 
fore  he  kept  Bob  entertained. 

A  few  nights  later  he  returned  with  a  fund  of  new 
stories,  and  during  the  evening  he  confessed  to  a  consum 
ing  thirst. 

"Death  Valley  has  nothing  on  this  place,"  he  mourned. 

Bob  explained  apologetically,  "I'm  sorry,  but  there's 
nothing  in  the  house  wetter  than  Croton  water." 

"I  understand!  Will  you  object  if  I  sweeten  a  glass  of 
it  with  some  Scottish  rites?  I'm  afraid  of  germs,  and  if 
water  rots  leather  think  what  it  must  do  to  the  sensitive 
lining  of  a  human  stomach?"  Jim  drew  a  flask  from  his 
pocket,  then  hesitated  as  if  in  doubt. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  Bob  assured  him,  hastily.  "I'm 
strapped  in  the  driver's  seat."  But  he  looked  on  with 
eager  appreciation  as  his  brother-in-law  filled  a  long  glass 
and  sipped  it. 

Bob  had  never  been  a  whisky-drinker,  yet  the  faint 
odor  of  the  liquor  tantalized  him.  When  in  the  course  of 
time  he  saw  Jim  preparing  a  second  drink  he  stirred. 

"Kind  of  itchy,  eh?  Let's  whip  across  the  street  and 
have  a  game  of  pool,"  suggested  Jim;  and  Bob  was  glad 
to  escape  from  the  room. 

An  agreeable  hour  followed ;  but  Bob  played  badly,  and 
found  that  his  eye  had  lost  its  sureness.  His  hand  was 
uncertain,  too,  and  this  lack  of  co-ordination  disgusted 
him.  He  was  sure  that  with  a  steadying  drink  he  could 
beat  Jim,  and  eventually  he  proved  it;  but,  mindful  of 
his  resolution,  he  compromised  on  beer,  which,  Jim  agreed, 
could  not  reasonably  be  called  an  intoxicant. 

On  his  way  to  the  theater  Bob  chewed  cinnamon  bark, 
and  when  he  kissed  Lorelei  he  held  his  breath. 

This  was  the  first  of  several  pool  matches,  and  after  a 
while  Bob  was  gratified  to  find  that  beer  in  moderation 
left  no  disagreeable  effect  whatever  upon  him.  He  re 
joiced  in  his  power  of  restraint. 

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There  came  a  night  when  he  failed  to  meet  his  wife. 
After  waiting  nearly  half  an  hour  Lorelei  went  home, 
only  to  find  the  apartment  deserted.  She  nibbled  at  a 
lonely  lunch,  trying  to  assure  herself  that  nothing  was 
seriously  amiss;  but  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to 
go  to  bed.  She  tried  to  read,  and  failed.  An  hour  passed, 
then  another;  a  thousand  apprehensions  crowded  in  upon 
her,  and  she  finally  found  herself  walking  the  floor,  but 
pulled  herself  together  with  a  mirthless  laugh.  So  it  had 
come,  she  reflected,  with  mingled  bitterness  and  relief; 
her  fight  was  over,  her  part  of  the  bargain  was  ended,  she 
was  free  to  live  her  own  life  as  she  chose.  Certainly  she 
had  done  her  best,  and  above  all  question  she  was  not  the 
sort  of  wife  who  could  wait  patiently,  night  after  night, 
for  a  drunken  husband. 

Bob,  when  he  did  arrive,  entered  with  elaborate  cau 
tion.  He  paused  in  the  little  hall,  then  tossed  his  hat 
into  the  living-room,  where  his  wife  was  waiting.  After 
a  moment  his  head  came  slowly  into  view,  and  he  said: 

"When  the  hat  stays  in,  go  in;  when  it  comes  out, 
beat  it." 

Lorelei  saw  that  he  was  quite  drunk. 

"I  just  came  from  the  theater,"  he  explained,  "but  it 
was  dark.  Has  the  show  failed,  dearie?"  He  tried  to 
kiss  her,  but  she  turned  her  face  away.  "Come!  Must 
have  my  little  kiss,"  he  insisted;  then  as  she  rose  and 
moved  away,  leaving  him  swaying  in  his  tracks,  he  began 
gravely  to  unroll  an  odd,  thin  package  that  resembled  a 
tennis-racket.  Removing  a  soiled  white  wrapping,  then 
an  inner  layer  of  oiled  paper,  he  exposed  the  sad  remains 
of  what  had  been  an  elaborate  bouquet  of  double  English 
violets  fringed  with  gardenias.  He  stared  at  the  flowers 
in  some  bewilderment. 

"  Must  have  sat  on  'em,"  he  opined  at  last;  then  he  cried 
brightly :  "  Ha !  Pressed  flowers !  I'm  full  of  old-fashioned 
sentiment."  After  studying  Lorelei's  unsmiling  face  his 

3°3 


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tone  altered.  "Oh,  I  know!  I  slipped,  but  it  couldn't 
be  helped.  Nature  insisted,  and  I  yielded  gracefully; 
but  no  harm  done,  none  whatever.  This  isn't  a  defeat, 
my  dear;  it's  a  victory.  I  licked  the  demon  rum  and 
proved  myself  a  man  of  iron.  I  subjugated  the  cohorts 
of  General  Benjamin  Booze,  then  I  signed  a  treaty  of 
peace,  and  there  was  no  bad  blood  on  either  side."  After 
an  uncomfortable  pause,  during  which  he  vainly  waited 
for  her  to  speak,  he  explained  more  fully:  "My  dear, 
nothing  is  absolute!  Life  is  a  series  of  compromises.  Have 
a  heart.  Would  you  rob  the  distiller  of  his  livelihood  ? 
Think  of  the  struggling  young  brewer  with  a  family. 
Could  you  take  the  bread  from  the  mouths  of  his  little 
ones  ?  The  president  of  a  bottling- works  may  be  a  Chris 
tian;  he  may  have  a  sick  wife.  Remember  the  boys  that 
work  in  the  hop-fields  and  the  joyous  peasant  girls  of 
France.  Moderation  is  the  thing.  Live  and  let  live." 

Lorelei  nodded.  "Exactly!  We  shall  live  as  we  choose, 
only,  of  course,  we  can't  live  together  after  this."  Then 
her  disgust  burst  its  control,  and  she  demanded,  bitterly, 
"Haven't  you  any  strength  whatever?  Haven't  you  any 
balance,  Bob?" 

He  grinned  at  her  cheerfully.  "I  should  say  I  had.  I 
walked  a  fence  on  the  way  home  just  to  prove  it;  and  I 
scarcely  wabbled.  Balance!  Strength!  Why,  you  ought 
to  see  Jim.  They  had  to  carry  him." 

"Jim?    Was — Jim  with  you?" 

"In  spirit,  yes;  in  body — only  for  a  time.  For  a  brief 
while  we  went  gaily,  hand  in  hand,  then  Jim  lagged. 
He's  a  nice  boy,  but  weak;  he  falters  beneath  a  load; 
and,  as  for  pool,  why,  I've  slept  on  pool-tables,  so  nat 
urally  I  know  the  angles  better  than  he.  Ha!  that's  a 
funny  line,  isn't  it?  I  know  the  angles  of  pool-tables 
because  I've  slept  on  'em,  see?  Don't  hurry;  I'll  wait 
for  you.  Even  an  'act'  like  mine  needs  applause." 

But  Lorelei  was  in  no  laughing  mood.  She  questioned 
304 


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Bob  searchingly  and  soon  learned  of  Jim's  visits,  of  the 
flask,  of  the  pool  games.  When  she  understood  it  all  her 
eyes  were  glowing,  but  she  found  nothing  to  say.  At  last 
she  got  Bob  to  bed,  then  lay  down  beside  him  and  stared 
into  the  darkness  through  many  wakeful  hours. 

In  the  morning  he  was  not  only  contrite,  but  badly 
frightened,  yet  when  he  undertook  to  make  his  peace  he 
found  her  unexpectedly  mild. 

"  If  you're  sorry,  that's  all  I  ask,"  she  said.  "  I  changed 
my  mind  during  the  night." 

"Never  again!"  he  promised,  feelingly.  "I  thought. 
I  had  cured  myself." 

Lorelei  smiled  at  him  faintly.  "  Cured !  How  long  have 
you  been  a  drinker?" 

"Oh,  nearly  always." 

"When  were  you  first  drunk?" 

"I  was  eighteen,  I  think." 

"  You've  been  undergoing  a  bodily  change  for  ten  years. 
During  all  that  time  your  brain-cells  have  been  changing 
their  structure,  and  they'll  never  be  healthy  or  normal 
until  they've  been  made  over.  You  can't  accomplish 
that  in  a  few  weeks." 

"Say,  you  don't  mean  I'm  going  to  stay  thirsty  until 
my  egg-shaped  dome  becomes  round  again?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"Why,  that  might  take  years!" 

"  It  took  ten  years  to  work  the  damage — it  will  probably 
take  ten  years  to  repair  it." 

Bob  was  aghast.  "Good  heavens!  In  ten  years  I'll 
be  too  old  to  drink — I'd  tremble  so  that  I'd  spill  it.  But 
where  did  you  get  all  this  M.  D.  dope?" 

"I've  been  reading.  I've  been  talking  to  a  doctor,  too. 
You  see,  I  wanted  to  help." 

" Let's  change  doctors.    Ten  years!    It  can't  be  done." 

"I'm  afraid  you're  right.  There's  no  such  thing  as 
reformation.  A  born  criminal  never  reforms;  only  those 
20  305 


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who  go  wrong  from  weakness  or  from  bad  influences  ever 
make  good." 

"Drinking  isn't  a  crime,"  Bob  declared,  angrily,  "any 
more  than  freckles.  It's  just  a  form  of  diversion." 

Lorelei  shook  her  head.  "If  you're  a  born  alcoholic 
you'll  probably  die  a  drunkard.  I'm  hoping  that  you 
didn't  inherit  the  taste." 

"Well,  whether  it  was  left  to  me  or  whether  I  bought 
it,  I  can't  go  dry  for  ten  years." 

"Then  our  bargain  is  ended." 

He  looked  up  sharply.    "Oh  no,  it  isn't!" 

"Yes." 

He  extended  a  shaking  hand,  and  his  voice  was  suppli 
cating  as  he  said:  "I  can't  get  along  without  you,  kid. 
You're  a  part  of  me — the  vital  part.  I'd  go  to  pieces 
quick  if  you  quit  now." 

"When  we  made  our  agreement  I  meant  to  live  up  to 
every  bit  of  it,"  Lorelei  told  him,  gently,  "but  we're 
going  to  try  again,  for  this  was  Jim's  fault." 

"Jim?    Jim  was  sorry  for  me.    He  tried  to  cheer — " 

Lorelei's  smile  was  bitter.  "Jim  was  never  sorry  for 
anybody  except  himself.  My  family  hate  you  just  as 
your  family  hate  me,  and  they'd  like  to  separate  us." 

"Say,  that's  pretty  rotten!"  Bob  exclaimed.  "If  he 
weren't  your  brother  I'd — " 

Lorelei  laughed  mirthlessly.  "Go  ahead!  I  wish  you 
would.  It  might  clear  the  atmosphere." 

"Then  I  will."  After  a  moment  he  continued,  "I  sup 
pose  you  feel  you  must  go  on  supporting  them?" 

"Of  course." 

"Just  as  you  feel  you  must  support  me.  Is  it  entirely 
duty  in  my  case?"  Seeing  her  hesitate,  he  insisted, 
"Isn't  there  any  love  at  all?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Bob."      * 

The  man  pondered  silently.  "  I  suppose  if  I  were  the 
right  sort,"  he  said,  at  length,  with  some  difficulty,  "I'd 

306 


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let  you  go  under  these  circumstances.  Well,  I'm  not  the 
right  sort;  I'm  not  big  or  noble.  I'm  just  an  ordinary, 
medium-sized  man,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  you.  How 
ever,  I'm  through  side-stepping;  I've  tried  to  outrun  the 
Barleycorn  Brothers,  but  it's  no  use,  so  I'm  going  to 
turn  and  face  them.  If  they  lick  me  I'll  go  under.  But 
if  I  go  under  I'll  take  you  with  me.  I  won't  give  you  up. 
I  won't!" 

"I  sha'n't  let  you  pull  me  down,"  she  told  him, 
soberly. 

"Then  you'll  have  to  bear  me  up.  When  a  man's 
drowning  he  grabs  and  holds  on.  That's  me!  There's 
nothing  fine  about  me,  understand?  I'm  human  and  sel 
fish.  I'd  be  happy  in  hell  with  you." 

"You're  not  fair." 

" I  don't  pretend  to  be.  This  isn't  a  bridge  game;  this 
is  life.  I'll  cheat,  I'll  hold  out,  I'll  deal  from  the  bottom, 
if  I  can't  win  in  any  other  way.  Good  God !  Don't  you 
understand  that  you're  the  only  thing  I  ever  loved,  the 
only  thing  I  ever  wanted  and  couldn't  get?  I've  never 
had  but  half  of  you;  don't  expect  me  to  give  that  up." 
He  rose,  jammed  his  hat  upon  his  head  as  if  to  escape  from 
the  room,  then  turned  and  crushed  his  wife  to  him  with 
a  fierce  cruelty  of  possession.  Lorelei  could  feel  him 
shaking  as  he  covered  her  face  with  kisses,  but  nothing 
within  her  stirred  even  faintly  in  answer  to  his  passion. 

When  Bob  reached  the  financial  district  that  day  and 
resumed  his  quest  for  work  he  was  ablaze  with  resent 
ment  at  himself  and  at  the  world  in  general. 

He  took  up  the  search  with  a  dogged  determination  that 
was  quite  unlike  him.  One  after  another  he  canvassed 
his  friends  for  a  position,  and  finally,  as  if  ill  fortune  could 
not  withstand  his  fervor,  he  was  successful.  It  was  not 
much  of  a  job  that  was  offered  him,  but  he  snapped  at  it, 
and  returned  home  that  evening  in  the  best  of  humor. 

307 


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Already  the  serious  issues  of  the  morning  were  but  a 
memory;  he  burst  in  upon  Lorelei  like  a  gale,  shouting: 

"I'm  chalk-boy  at  Crosset  &  Meyers,  so  you  can  give 
Bergman  your  notice  to-night." 

"What's  the  salary?" 

"It  isn't  a  salary;  it's  a  humiliation — twenty-five  a 
week  is  the  total  insult." 

"Why,  Bob!    That  won't  keep  two  and  the  family — " 

"Damn  the  family!"  He  quieted  himself  with  an 
effort.  "Well,  you  give  your  notice,  anyhow.  I'll  spear 
the  coin  for  both  establishments  somehow.  Come !  I  insist. 
I  want  to  be  able  to  shave  myself  without  blushing." 

Lorelei's  objections  were  not  easily  overcome,  but  at 
last,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  summer  run  of  the  Revue 
was  drawing  to  a  close  and  the  show  would  soon  take  to 
the  road,  she  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded. 

Throughout  the  next  week  Bob  Wharton  really  tried 
to  make  good.  He  was  enthusiastic;  the  excitement  of 
actual  accomplishment  was  so  novel  that  he  had  not  time 
to  think  of  liquor.  When  Saturday  came  and  he  found 
himself  in  possession  of  honestly  earned  funds  he  felt  a 
soul-satisfying  ease.  He  decided  to  invest  his  first  sav 
ings  in  a  present  for  Lorelei,  then  a  graver  sense  of  respon 
sibility  seized  him,  and  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Knight  as  follows : 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER-IN-NEW-JERSEY-LAW, — Inclosed  find  five 
handsome  examples  of  the  engraver's  skill,  same  being  the  result 
of  six  industrious  days.  I  know  your  passion  for  these  objets 
d'art,  I  appreciate  your  eagerness  to  share  my  father's  celebrated 
collection,  and  I  join  you  in  regrets  at  your  failure  to  do  so.  But 
remember,  "As  a  moth  gnaws  a  garment,  so  doth  envy  consume 
a  man."  Take  these  photogravures,  love  them,  cherish  them, 
share  them  with  the  butcher,  the  baker,  the  hobble-skirt  maker, 
and  console  yourself  with  the  thought  that,  although  you  have 
lost  much,  you  have  gained  something  above  price  in  me. 
Thine  in  everlasting  fetters, 

ROBERT. 
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Having  despatched  this  missive,  he  set  out  to  find  Jim, 
for  the  afternoon  was  young  and  he  wished  to  settle  his 
obligations  in  full.  It  is  well  to  be  systematic;  business 
is  largely  a  matter  of  system,  anyhow,  and  the  tag  ends 
of  one  week's  work  should  never  be  allowed  to  lap  over 
into  another. 

A  round  of  popular  up-town  resorts  failed  to  discover 
Jim,  but  Bob's  search  finally  brought  him  to  Tony  the 
Barber's  shop;  and  here,  in  the  rear  room,  he  found  his 
brother-in-law  playing  cards  with  a  pop-eyed  youth  and 
a  repellent  person  with  a  cauliflower  ear. 

Bob's  greeting  was  hearty.  "Evening,  James,"  he 
cried.  "Feel  like  taking  your  beating  here?" 

"Eh?  What's  the  matter?"  Jim  rose  from  his  chair 
with  a  shocked  intensity  of  gaze. 

"I'm  just  cleaning  up  my  affairs  for  the  day  of  rest, 
and  I've  come  to  return  your  last  call.  Alas,;  James,  I 
am  a  weak  vessel !  Your  work  was  coarse,  but  I  fell  for 
it."  To  the  other  occupants  of  the  room  he  apologized. 
"I'm  sorry  to  spoil  your  little  game  of  authors,  but  neces 
sity  prods  me."  He  extended  a  muscular  hand  for  Jim's 
collar  and  found  it. 

Mr.  Armistead  was  of  the  emotional  kind ;  he  leaped  to 
his  feet  and  went  to  the  rescue  of  his  friend;  but  his  first 
blow  was  wild.  Seizing  a  chair,  he  swung  it  aloft  —  a 
manoeuver  which  more  effectively  distracted  Bob's  atten 
tion — but  this  attack  also  failed  when  Bob's  fist  buried 
itself  in  the  spongy  region  of  Mr.  Armistead's  belt-buckle, 
and  that  young  man  promptly  lost  all  interest  in  Jimmy 
Knight's  affairs.  There  had  been  a  time  when  he  might 
have  weathered  such  a  blow,  but  of  late  years  easy  living 
had  left  its  marks ;  therefore  he  sat  down  heavily,  all  but 
missing  the  chair  he  had  just  occupied.  His  eyes  bulged 
more  prominently  than  usual;  he  became  desperately  con 
cerned  with  a  strange  difficulty  in  breathing. 

Alert,  aggressive,  Bob  turned  to  face  the  man  with 
309 


the  swollen  ear;  but  young  Sullivan,  being  a  professional 
fighter,  made  no  capital  of  amateur  affairs,  and  declined 
the  issue  with  an  upraised  palm. 

"Friends,  eh?"  Bob  panted. 

"Brothers!"  heartily  ejaculated  Sullivan,  whereupon 
Bob  foiled  Jimmy  Knight's  short  cut  for  the  door  and 
proceeded  with  the  purpose  of  his  call. 

It  was  no  difficult  matter  to  chastise  Jim,  whose  spirit 
was  as  wretched  as  his  strength;  as  the  wind  whips  a 
flag,  as  a  man  flaps  a  dusty  garment,  so  did  Bob  shake  his 
victim.  Jim  felt  his  spine  crack  and  his  limbs  unjoint. 
His  teeth  snapped,  he  bit  his  tongue,  his  heels  rattled 
upon  the  floor.  Bob  seemed  bent  upon  shaking  the  bones 
from  his  flesh  and  the  marrow  from  his  bones ;  but,  try 
as  he  would,  Jim  could  not  prevent  the  outrage.  He  strug 
gled,  he  clawed,  he  kicked,  he  yelled;  his  arms  threshed 
loosely,  like  the  limber  appendages  to  a  stuffed  figure. 

Mr.  Amistead,  unnaturally  pale,  remained  seated.  He 
emitted  harrowing  sounds  like  those  made  by  air  leaking 
into  a  defective  pump.  Sullivan  looked  on  with  the  lively 
appreciation  of  a  rough-house  expert. 

When  Bob  emerged  from  the  rear  room  he  found  the 
barber  shop  in  confusion.  Tony  was  leading  a  charge 
at  the  head  of  his  assistants,  who  were  supported  in  turn 
by  the  customers;  but  he  fell  back  at  sight  of  the  flushed 
victor. 

"It  was  nothing  but  a  little  family  affair,"  Bob  reas 
sured  him.  ' '  Now,  if  you  please,  I  '11  borrow  a  hair-brush . ' ' 
In  front  of  a  mirror  he  tidied  himself,  settled  his  scarf 
with  a  deft  jerk,  then  went  out  whistling.  As  it  was 
nearly  closing-time  for  the  matinees,  he  strolled  toward 
the  Circuit  Theater,  full  of  a  satisfying  contentment  with 
the  world.  Now  that  he  owed  it  nothing,  he  resolved  to 
meet  his  future  obligations  as  they  arose. 

Early  on  Monday  morning  Bob  reported  for  work,  only 
310 


He  succeeded  in  borrowing  a  thousand  dollars,  witl 


which   he  bought   Lorelei  a  set  of  black  opals. 


THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

to  receive  from  Mr.  Crosset,  whom  he  had  always  regarded 
as  a  warm  friend,  the  notice  of  his  discharge. 

"What's  the  matter?  Didn't  I  make  good?"  he  de 
manded. 

Crosset  was  a  young  man;  more  than  once  he  and  Bob 
had  scandalized  Broadway;  some  of  their  exploits  were 
epic.  Now  he  shrugged  carelessly,  saying: 

"Oh,  you  made  good,  I  guess;  but  we  can't  take  a 
chance  with  you." 

"I  suppose  you're  afraid  I'll  steal  some  of  your  chalk." 

Crosset  grinned,  then  deponed  with  extreme  gravity: 
"Bob,  you  drink.  You're  unsteady  in  your  habits. 
It's  too  bad,  but  we  can't — " 

"I  don't  drink  as  much  as  you  do." 

"Nobody  does;    but  that's  beside  the  question." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've  quit." 

This  announcement  drew  a  hearty  chuckle.  "You're 
a  great  comedian,  Bob,"  said  Crosset. 

After  surveying  his  friend  for  a  moment  Bob  responded 
with  great  earnestness:  "But  you're  not.  This  fails  to 
hand  me  a  laugh.  Now  tell  me,  how  did  you  wet  your 
feet,  and  whence  comes  the  icy  draught?" 

"Well,  from  the  direction  of  Pittsburg,  if  you  must 
know.  It  seems  you  are  an  undesirable  citizen,  Bob — 
a  dangerous  character.  There's  a  can  tied  to  you,  and  we 
can't  afford  to  antagonize  the  whole  Steel  Trust." 

"I  see.  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  disown  that  father  of 
mine." 

"What's  the  trouble,  anyhow?" 

At  Bob's  explanation  Crosset  whistled.  "Funny  I 
didn't  hear  about  it.  Married  and  happy,  eh?  Well,  I'm 
sorry  I  can't  help  you — " 

"You  can." 

"How?" 

"Lend  me  five  hundred.'* 

"Certainly!"     Crosset  lunged  at  his  desk,  scribbled  a 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

line  to  the  cashier,  and  handed  it  to  Bob,  then,  in  response 
to  a  call  from  the  customers'  room,  dashed  away  with  a 
hearty  farewell. 

As  Bob  passed  through  the  outer  office  he  ran  his  eye 
over  the  opening  prices,  being  half  inclined  to  "scalp" 
with  his  sudden  wealth;  but  luck  had  never  run  his  way, 
and  he  reconsidered.  Anyhow,  there  were  more  agree 
able  uses  to  which  he  could  put  this  money;  for  one  thing 
he  needed  several  suits,  for  another  it  was  high  time  he 
gave  Lorelei  some  little  remembrance — he  hadn't  given 
her  a  present  in  nearly  two  weeks,  and  women  set  great 
store  by  such  attentions.  He  decided  to  invest  his  money 
in  Maiden  Lane  and  demand  credit  from  his  tailor.  But 
a  half-hour  at  a  jewelry  shop  convinced  him  that  nothing 
suitable  to  so  splendid  a  creature  as  his  wife  could  be  pur 
chased  for  a  paltry  five  hundred  dollars,  and  he  was  upon 
the  point  of  returning  to  Crosset  with  a  request  to  double 
the  loan  when  his  common  sense  asserted  itself.  Pov 
erty  was  odious,  but  not  shameful,  be  reflected;  ostenta 
tion,  on  the  other  hand,  was  vulgar.  Would  it  not  be  in 
bad  taste  to  squander  this  happy  windfall  upon  jewelry 
when  Lorelei  needed  practical  things? 

Bob  was  cheered  by  the  breadth  of  these  sentiments; 
they  showed  that  he  was  beginning  soberly  to  realize  the 
leaden  responsibilities  of  a  family  man.  No,  instead  of  a 
jewel  he  would  buy  his  wife  a  dog. 

At  a  fashionable  up-town  kennel  he  found  exactly  what 
he  wanted,  in  the  shape  of  a  Pekingese — a  playful,  pedi 
greed  pocket  dog  scarcely  larger  than  his  two  fists.  It 
was  a  creature  to  excite  the  admiration  of  any  woman; 
its  family  tree  was  taller  than  that  of  a  Spanish  nobleman, 
and  its  name  was  Ying.  But  here  again  Bob  was  handi 
capped  by  poverty,  for  sleeve  dogs  are  expensive  novel 
ties,  and  the  price  of  Ying  was  seven  hundred  dollars — 
marked  down  from  one  thousand,  and  evidently  the  bar 
gain  of  a  lifetime  at  that  price. 

316 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK    • 

Bob  hated  to  haggle,  but  he  showed  that  his  ability 
to  drive  a  sharp  bargain  was  merely  latent,  and  he  finally 
bore  the  animal  away  in  triumph.  To  outgeneral  a  dog- 
fancier  was  a  tribute  to  his  shrewdness;  to  save  two  hun 
dred  dollars  on  a  single  purchase  was  economy  of  a  high 
order.  Much  elated,  he  set  out  briskly  for  his  tailor's 
place  of  business. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  still  lacked  something  of  luncheon  -  time  when  Bob 
Wharton  swung  into  Fifth  Avenue  with  Ying  snugly 
ensconced  in  his  coat  pocket.  Bob  was  in  fine  fettle,  what 
with  the  anticipation  of  Lorelei's  delight  at  his  gift  and 
the  certainty  of  an  agreeable  hour  with  his  tailor.  It  was 
always  a  pleasure  to  deal  with  Kurtz,  for  in  his  shop 
customers  were  treated  with  the  most  delicate  considera 
tion.  Salesmen,  cutters,  fitters,  all  were  pleasant  ac 
quaintances  who  displayed  neither  the  fawning  obse 
quiousness  of  Fifth  Avenue  tradespeople  nor  the  sullen 
apathy  of  Broadway  clerks.  Kurtz  himself  was  an  artist ; 
he  was  also  a  person  of  generally  cultivated  taste  and  a 
man  about  town.  His  pleasure  in  making  a  sale  was  less 
than  his  delight  at  meeting  and  serving  his  customers, 
and  his  books  were  open  only  to  those  he  considered  his 
equals.  A  stony-faced  doorman  kept  watch  and  ward  in 
the  Gothic  hallway  to  discourage  the  general  public  from 
entering  the  premises.  The  fact  that  Bob  owed  several 
hundred  dollars  dismayed  that  young  man  not  in  the 
least,  for  Kurtz  never  mentioned  money  matters — the 
price  of  garments  being  after  all  of  far  less  consequence 
than  fit,  and  style,  and  that  elusive  something  which 
Kurtz  called  "effect." 

Our  daily  actions  are  controlled  by  a  variety  of  oppos 
ing  influences  which  are  like  threads  pulling  at  us  from 
various  directions.  When  for  any  reason  certain  of  these 
threads  are  snapped  and  the  balance  is  disturbed  we  are 
drawn  into  strange  pathways,  and  our  whole  lives  may  be 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

changed  through  the  operation  of  what  seems  a  most 
trivial  case.  In  Bob's  case  the  cause  approached,  all 
unheralded,  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Richard  Cady,  a  youth 
whose  magnificent  vacuity  of  purpose  was  the  envy  of 
his  friends.  Comet-like,  he  was  destined  to  appear,  flash 
brightly,  then  disappear  below  the  horizon  of  this  tale. 
Mr.  Cady  greeted  Bob  with  listless  enthusiasm,  teetering 
the  while  upon  his  cane  like  a  Japanese  equilibrist. 

"Haven't  seen  you  for  ages,"  he  began.  "Been 
abroad?" 

Bob  explained  that  he  was  spending  the  summer  in  New 
York,  a  statement  that  filled  his  listener  with  the  same 
horror  he  would  have  felt  had  he  learned  that  Bob  was 
passing  the  heated  season  in  the  miasmatic  jungles  of  the 
Amazon. 

"Just  ran  down  from  Newport,"  Cady  volunteered. 
"  I'm  sailing  to-day.  Better  join  me  for  a  trip.  I  know — " 
he  cut  Bob's  refusal  short — "travel's  an  awful  nuisance; 
I  get  seasick  myself." 

"Then  why  play  at  it?" 

Cady  rolled  a  mournful  eye  upon  his  friend.  "Girl!" 
said  he,  hollowly.  "Show-girl!  If  I  stay  I'll  marry  her, 
and  that  wouldn't  do.  Posi-tive-ly  not!  So  I'm  running 
away.  I'll  wait  over  if  you'll  join  me." 

"I'm  a  working-man." 

"Haw!"     Mr.  Cady  expelled  a  short  laugh. 

"True!    And  I've  quit  drinking." 

Now  Cady  was  blase",  but  he  had  a  heart;  his  sympa 
thies  were  slow,  but  he  was  not  insensible  to  misfortune. 
Accordingly  he  responded  with  a  cry  of  pity,  running  his 
eye  over  his  friend  to  estimate  the  ravages  of  Temperance. 
Midway  in  its  course  his  gaze  halted,  he  passed  a  silk- 
gloved  palm  lightly  across  his  brow,  and  looked  again. 
A  tiny  head  seemed  to  protrude  from  Bob's  pocket,  a 
pair  of  bright,  inquiring  eyes  seemed  to  be  peering  di 
rectly  at  the  observer. 


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"I — guess  I'd  better  quit,  too,"  said  Cady,  faintly. 
"Are  you — alone?" 

Bob  gently  extracted  Ying  from  his  resting-place,  and 
the  two  men  studied  him  gravely. 

"Little  beggar,  isn't  he?"  Cady  remarked.  "Has  he 
got  a  brother?  I'd  like  to  give  one  to — you  know!" 

"He's  alone  in  the  world.     I'm  his  nearest  of  kin." 

"Give  you  five  dollars  for  him,"  Cady  offered. 

"I  just  paid  five  hundred,  and  he's  worth  a  thousand. 
Why,  his  people  came  over  ahead  of  the  Mayflower." 

The  gloomy  lover  was  interested;  in  his  face  there 
gleamed  a  faint  desire.  "Think  of  it!  Well,  make  it  a 
thousand.  I'll  send  him  in  a  bunch  of  orchids.  Haw!" 
He  doubled  over  his  stick,  convulsed  with  appreciation  of 
his  own  originality.  But  again  Bob  refused.  "Don't  be 
nasty,  I'll  make  it  fifteen  hundred." 

Bob  carefully  replaced  the  canine  -atom  and  grinned 
at  his  friend. 

"I  need  the  money,  but — nothing  doing." 

"Up  against  it?"  hopefully  inquired  the  other. 

"Broke!  I  couldn't  afford  a  nickel  to  see  an  earth 
quake;" 

"I'll  lend  you  fifteen  hundred  and  take  Ying  as  se 
curity." 

But  Bob  remained  inflexible,  and  Mr.  Cady  relapsed 
into  gloom,  muttering: 

"Gee!     You're  a  rotten  business  man!" 

"So  says  my  heartless  father.  He  has  sewed  up  my 
pockets  and  scuttled  my  drawing  -  account,  hence  the 
dinner-pail  on  my  arm.  I'm  in  quest  of  toil." 

"I'll  bet  you  starve,"  brightly  predicted  Mr.  Cady,  in 
an  effort  at  encouragement.  "I'll  lay  you  five  thousand 
that  you  make  a  flivver  of  anything  you  try." 

"I've  quit  gambling,  too." 

As  they  shook  hands  Cady  grunted:  "  My  invitation  to 
globe-trot  is  withdrawn.  Fine  company  you'd  be!" 

320 


"  T  JUST  paid  five  hundred,  and  he's  worth  a  thousand. 
1  Why,  his  people  came  over  ahead  of  the  Mayflower." 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK. 

As  Bob  walked  up  the  Avenue  he  pondered  deeply, 
wondering  if  he  really  were  so  lacking  in  ability  as  his 
friends  believed.  Money  was  such  a  common  thing,  after 
all;  the  silly  labor  of  acquiring  it  could  not  be  half  so 
interesting  as  the  spending  of  it.  Anybody  could  make 
money,  but  to  enjoy  it,  to  circulate  it  judiciously,  one  must 
possess  individuality — of  a  sort.  Money  seemed  to  come 
to  some  people  without  effort,  and  from  the  strangest 
sources — Kurtz,  for  instance,  had  grown  rich  out  of  coats 
and  trousers! 

Bob  halted,  frowning,  while  Ying  peered  out  from  his 
hiding-place  at  the  passing  throngs,  exposing  a  tiny, 
limp,  pink-ribbon  tongue.  If  Kurtz,  armed  only  with  a 
pair  of  shears  and  a  foolish  tape,  had  won  to  affluence, 
why  couldn't  another?  Stock-broking  was  no  longer 
profitable ;  none  of  Bob's  friends  had  earned  their  salt  for 
months;  and  old  Hannibal's  opposition  evidently  forced 
a  change  of  occupation. 

The  prospect  of  such  a  change  was  annoying,  but  scarce 
ly  alarming  to  an  ingrained  optimist,  and  Bob  took  com 
fort  in  reflecting  that  the  best-selling  literature  of  the  day 
was  replete  with  instances  of  disinherited  sons,  im 
poverished  society  men,  ruined  bankers,  or  mere  idlers, 
who  by  lightning  strokes  of  genius  had  mended  their 
fortunes  overnight.  Some  few,  in  the  earlier  days  of 
frenzied  fiction,  had  played  the  market,  others  the  ponies, 
still  others  had  gone  West  and  developed  abandoned 
gold-mines  or  obscure  water-powers.  A  number  also  had 
grown  disgustingly  rich  from  patenting  rat-traps  or  shoe- 
buttons.  One  young  man  had  discovered  a  way  to  keep 
worms  out  of  railroad-ties  and  had  promptly  bludgeoned 
the  railroad  companies  out  of  fabulous  royalties. 

Over  the  stock-market  idea  Bob  could  work  up  no 
enthusiasm — he  knew  too  much  about  it — and,  inasmuch 
as  horse-racing  was  no  longer  fashionable,  opportunities 
for  a  Pittsburg  Phil  future  seemed  limited.  Moreover, 

323 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

he  had  never  saved  a  jockey's  life  nor  a  jockey's  mother 
from  eviction,  hence  feed-box  tips  were  not  likely.  Nor 
did  he  know  a  single  soul  in  the  business  of  inventing  rat- 
traps  or  shoe-buttons.  As  for  going  Wesb,  he  was  clearly 
of  the  opinion  that  a  search  for  abandoned  gold-mines  or 
forgotten  waterfalls  wasn't  in  his  line;  and  the  secret  of 
creosoting  railroad-ties,  now  that  he  came  to  think  of  it, 
was  still  locked  up  in  the  breast  of  its  affluent  discoverer. 
Besides,  as  the  whole  episode  had  occurred  in  the  second 
act  of  a  play,  the  safety  of  building  upon  it  was  doubtful 
at  best. 

No,  evidently  the  well-recognized  short  cuts  to  wealth 
had  all  been  obliterated  by  many  feet,  and  he  must  find 
another.  But  where?  At  length  Bob's  wrinkled  brow 
smoothed  itself,  and  he  nodded.  His  path  was  plain;  it 
led  around  the  nearest  corner  to  his  tailor's  door. 

Mr.  Kurtz's  greeting  was  warm  as  Bob  strolled  into 
the  stately  show-room  with  its  high-backed  Flemish-oak 
chairs,  its  great  carved  tables,  its  paneled  walls  with  their 
antlered  decorations.  This,  it  may  be  said,  was  not  a 
shop,  not  a  store  where  clothes  were  sold,  but  a  studio 
where  men's  distinctive  garments  were  draped,  and  the 
difference  was  perfectly  apparent  on  the  first  of  each 
month. 

Bob  gave  Ying  his  freedom,  to  the  great  interest  of  the 
proprietor,  who  studied  the  dog's  points  with  a  practised 
eye. 

"Kurtz,"  began  Bob,  abruptly,  "I  just  bet  Dick  Cady 
five  thousand  dollars  that  I  can  make  my  own  living  for 
six  months."  This  falsehood  troubled  him  vaguely  until 
he  remembered  that  high  finance  must  be  often  conducted 
behind  a  veil. 

Mr.  Kurtz,  genial,  shrewd,  gray,  raised  admiring  eyes 
from  the  capering  puppy  and  said: 

"I'll  take  another  five  thousand." 

But  Bob  declined.     "No,  I'm  going  to  work." 
324 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

This  announcement  interested  the  tailor  deeply.  ' '  Who's 
going  to  hire  you?"  he  asked. 

"You  are." 

Kurtz  blinked.  "Maybe  you'd  like  to  bet  on  that, 
too,"  he  ventured.  "I'll  give  you  odds." 

"Work  is  one  of  the  few  things  I  haven't  tried.  You 
need  a  good  salesman." 

"No,  I  don't.     I  have  seven  already." 

"Say,  wouldn't  you  like  the  trade  of  the  whole  younger 
set?  I  can  bring  you  a  lot  of  fresh  customers — fellows 
like  me." 

"'Fresh  customers'  is  right,"  laughed  Kurtz,  then 
sobered  quickly.  "You're  joking,  of  course?" 

"I'm  so  serious  I  could  cry.  How  much  is  it  worth  to 
you  to  make  clothes  for  my  crowd?" 

"Well — "  the  tailor  considered.     "Quite  a  bit." 

"The  boys  like  to  see  Dick  trimmed — it's  a  matter  of 
principle  with  them  never  to  let  him  win  a  bet — and  they'd 
do  anything  for  me.  You're  the  best  tailor  in  the  city, 
but  too  conservative.  Now  I'm  going  to  bring  you  fifty 
new  accounts,  every  one  good  for  better  than  two  thousand 
a  year.  That's  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  How  much 
am  I  offered?  Going!  Going! — " 

' '  Wait  a  minute !  Would  you  stick  to  me  for  six  months 
if  I  took  you  on?" 

"My  dear  Kurtz,  I'll  poultice  myself  upon  you  for 
life.  I'll  guarantee  myself  not  to  slide,  slip,  wrinkle,  or 
skid.  Thirty  years  hence,  when  you  come  hobbling  down 
to  business,  you'll  find  me  here." 

Mr.  Kurtz  dealt  in  novelties,  and  the  idea  of  a  society 
salesman  was  sufficiently  new  to  appeal  to  his  commercial 
sense. 

"I'll  pay  you  twenty  per  cent.,"  he  offered,  "for  all  the 
new  names  you  put  on  my  books." 

"  Make  it  twenty-five  on  first  orders  and  twenty  on  re 
peaters.  I  '11  bring  my  own  luncheon  and  pay  my  car-fare. ' ' 

325 


THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

"There  wouldn't  be  any  profit  left,"  demurred  Kurtz. 

"Good!  Then  it's  a  bargain — twenty-five  and  twenty. 
Now  watch  me  grab  the  adolescent  offshoots  of  our  famous 
Four  Hundred."  Bob  chased  Ying  into  a  corner,  cap 
tured  him,  then  took  a  'bus  up  the  Avenue  to  the  College 
Club  for  luncheon. 

At  three  o'clock  he  returned,  accompanied  by  four 
flushed  young  men  whose  names  gave  Kurtz  a  thrill. 
In  spite  of  their  modish  appearance  they  declared  them 
selves  indecently  shabby,  and  allowed  Bob  to  order  for 
them — a  favor  which  he  performed  with  a  Rajah's  lofty 
disregard  of  expense.  He  sat  upon  one  of  the  carved 
tables,  teasing  Ying,  and  selecting  samples  as  if  for  a 
quartette  of  bridegrooms.  Being  bosom  cronies  of  Mr. 
Cady,  the  four  youths  needed  little  urging.  When  they 
had  gone  in  to  be  measured  Kurtz  said  guardedly: 

"Whew!  That's  more  stuff  than  I've  sold  in  two 
weeks!" 

"A  mere  trifle,"  Bob  grinned,  happily.  "Say,  Kurtz, 
this  is  the  life!  This  is  the  job  for  me — panhandling 
juvenile  plutocrats — no  office  hours,  no  heavy  lifting,  and 
Thursdays  off.  I'm  going  to  make  you  famous." 

"You'll  break  me  with  another  run  like  this." 

"How  much  did  they  order?" 

The  proprietor  ran  over  his  figures  incredulously. 

"Twenty-four  sack  suits,  two  riding-suits,  one  knicker, 
four  evening  suits,  four  dinner-suits,  forty  fancy  waist 
coats,  sixteen  evening  waistcoats,  four  pairs  riding-breeches, 
four  motor -coats,  three  Vicuna  overcoats,  two  ulsters. 
You  don't  think  they're  bluffing?" 

"Why  should  they  bluff?  They'll  never  discover  how 
many  suits  they  have.  Now  figure  it  up  and  tell  me  the 
bad  news." 

Mr.  Kurtz  did  as  directed,  announcing,  "Fifty-five  hun 
dred  and  five  dollars." 

"Pikers!"  exclaimed  the  new  salesman;  then  he  began 
326 


T^HERE  were  a  few  embarrassing  moments  when  sh 
.appraisal  of  the  other  women  made  her  easy. 


felt  critical  eyes  measuring  her,  but  her  first  instinctive 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

laboriously  to  compute  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  sum, 
using  as  a  pad  a  bolt  of  expensive  white-silk  vest  material. 
"Thirteen  hundred  and  seventy-six  dollars  and  twenty- 
five  cents  is  my  blackmail,  Kurtz.  That's  what  I  call 
'a  safe  and  sane  Fourth.'  Not  bad  for  dull  times,  and 
yet  it  might  be  better.  Anyhow,  it's  the  hardest  thirteen 
hundred  and  seventy-six  dollars  I  ever  earned." 

"Hard!"  The  merchant's  lips  twitched,  oscillating  his 
cigar  violently.  "Hard!  I'll  bet  those  fellows  even 
bought  your  lunch.  I  suppose  you  mean  it's  the  first 
money  you  ever — earned."  He  seemed  to  choke  over  the 
last  word.  "Well,  it's  worth  something  to  get  men  like 
these  on  the  books,  but — thirteen  hundred  and  seventy- 
six  dollars — " 

"And  twenty-five  cents." 

Mr.  Kurtz  gulped.  "In  one  day!  Why,  I  could  buy 
a  farm  for  that.  How  much  will  you  have  to  'earn'  to 
cover  your  living  expenses  for  six  months?" 

"Ah,  there  we  journey  into  the  realm  of  purest  specula 
tion."  Bob  favored  him  with  a  sunny  smile.  "As  well 
ask  me  how  much  my  living  expenses  must  be  in  order 
to  cover  my  earnings.  Whatever  one  is,  the  other  will 
be  approximately  ditto — or  perhaps  slightly  in  excess 
thereof.  Anyhow,  nothing  but  rigid  economy — bane  of 
my  life — will  make  the  one  fit  into  the  other.  But  I  have 
a  thought.  Something  tells  me  these  boys  need  white 
flannels,  so  get  out  your  stock,  Kurtz.  If  they  can't  play 
tennis  they  must  learn,  for  my  sake."  , 

Bob's  remarkable  stroke  of  fortune  called  for  a  cele 
bration,  and  his  four  customers  clamored  that  he  squander 
his  first  profits  forthwith.  Ordinarily  such  a  course  would 
have  been  just  to  his  liking;  but  now  he  was  dying  to 
tell  Lorelei  of  his  triumph,  and,  fearing  to  trust  himself 
with  even  one  drink,  he  escaped  from  his  friends  as  soon 
as  possible.  Thus  it  chanced  that  he  arrived  home  sober. 

It  was  a  happy  home-coming,  for  Ying  was  adorable 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

and  made  his  way  instantly  into  Lorelei's  heart,  while 
Bob  was  in  a  state  of  exaltation.  He  had  no  desire  to 
bind  himself  to  Kurtz's  service  for  six  months  or  for  any 
other  period;  nor  had  he  the  least  thought  of  living  up 
to  his  agreement  until  Lorelei  began  to  treat  the  matter 
seriously.  Then  he  objected  blankly: 

"Why,  it  was  all  right  as  a  joke,  but  I  don't  want  to 
be  a  tailor.  There's  no  romance  in  woolen  goods." 

"How  much  do  you  owe?"  she  asked. 

"Really,  I've  no  idea.  It's  something  you  don't  have 
to  remember — somebody  always  reminds  you  in  plenty 
of  time,  and  then  you  borrow  enough  to  pay  up." 

"Let's  forget  the  romance  and  pay  up  without  borrow 
ing.  Remember  you  have  two  families  to  support." 
Noting  that  the  idea  of  permanent  employment  galled 
him,  she  added,  craftily,  "Of  course  you'll  never  sell 
another  lot  of  clothes  like  this,  but — " 

"Why  not?    It's  like  selling  candy  to  a  child." 

"You  can't  go  with  that  crowd  without  drinking." 

"Is  that  so?  Now  you  sit  tight  and  hold  your  hat  on. 
I  can  make  that  business  pay  if  I  try,  and  still  stay  in 
the  Rain-makers'  Union.  There's  big  money  in  it — enough 
so  we  can  live  the  way  we  want  to.  I'm  sick  of  this  tele 
phone-booth,  anyhow ;  we'll  present  it  to  some  nice  news 
boy  and  rent  an  apartment  with  a  closet.  This  one's  so 
small  I  don't  dare  to  let  my  trousers  bag.  Besides,  we've 
been  under  cover  long  enough,  and  I  want  you  to  meet  the 
people  I  know.  We  can  afford  the  expense — now  that 
I'm  making  thirteen  hundred  and  seventy-six  dollars  and 
twenty-five  cents  a  day." 

"I  should  like  to  know  nice  people,"  Lorelei  confessed. 
"I'm  sick  of  the  kind  I've  met;  the  men  are  indecent 
and  the  women  are  vulgar.  I've  always  wanted  to  know 
the  other  kind." 

Bob  was  delighted;  his  fancy  took  fire,  and  already  he 
was  far  along  toward  prosperity.  "You'll  make  a  hit 

332 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

with  the  younger  set;  you'll  be  a  perfect  rave.  Bert 
Hayman  told  me  to-day  that  his  married  sister  is  enter 
taining  a  lot,  and,  since  the  drama  will  be  tottering  on 
its  way  to  destruction  without  you  in  a  few  days,  I'll 
tell  him  to  see  that  we're  invited  out  to  Long  Island  for 
a  week-end." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

T  TNDER  Lorelei's  encouragement  Bob  put  in  the 
\~)  next  two  weeks  to  good  advantage.  In  fact,  so 
obsessed  was  he  with  his  new  employment  that  it  was 
not  long  before  his  imaginary  bet  with  Cady  assumed 
reality  in  his  mind.  Moreover,  it  became  gossip  around 
his  clubs;  and  in  quarters  where  he  was  well  known  his 
method  of  winning  the  wager  was  deemed  not  only  char 
acteristic,  but  ingenious.  His  exploits  were  famous;  and 
his  friends,  rejoicing  in  one  more  display  of  eccentricity, 
and  relishing  any  mild  misfortune  to  Dick  Cady,  in  the 
majority  of  cases  changed  tailors. 

Business  at  Kurtz's  increased  so  substantially  that  Bob 
was  treated  with  a  reverential  amazement  by  every  one 
in  the  shop.  The  other  salesmen  gazed  upon  him  with 
envy;  Kurtz's  bearing  changed  in  a  way  that  was  ex 
tremely  gratifying  to  one  who  had  been  universally  ac 
counted  a  failure.  And  Bob  expanded  under  success; 
he  began  to  feel  more  than  mere  amusement  in  his  experi 
ment. 

His  marriage  in  some  way  had  become  public,  but, 
although  it  occasioned  some  comment,  the  affair  was  too 
old  to  be  of  much  news  value,  and  therefore  it  did  not 
get  into  the  papers  except  as  an  announcement.  Now 
that  he  had  escaped  the  disagreeable  notoriety  he  had 
expected  and  was  possessed  of  larger  means,  Bob — inordi 
nately  proud  of  his  wife's  beauty  and  boyishly  eager  to 
display  it — undertook  to  win  social  recognition  for  her. 
It  was  no  difficult  task  for  one  with  his  wide  acquaintance 

334 


•THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

to  make  a  beginning.  Lorelei  was  surprised  and  delighted 
one  day  to  receive  an  invitation  for  her  and  her  husband 
to  spend  a  week-end  at  Fennellcourt,  the  country  home  of 
Bert  Hayman's  sister. 

She  had  not  been  sorry  to  give  up  her  theatrical  work, 
and  the  prospect  of  meeting  nice  people,  of  leaving  for 
good  and  all  the  sordid,  unhealthy  atmosphere  of  Broad 
way,  bathed  her  in  a  glow  of  anticipation.  She  had  con 
siderable  knowledge  of  rich  men,  in  their  hours  of  recrea 
tion  at  least,  but  of  their  women  she  knew  little,  and 
nothing  whatever  of  the  life  which  went  on  in  exclusive 
circles.  During  the  fortnight  of  preparation  before  the 
visit  her  feelings  more  nearly  approached  stage -fright 
than  upon  the  occasion  of  her  first  public  appearance. 

Fennellcourt  is  one  of  the  show-places  of  the  Wheatley 
Hills  section.  The  house  itself  is  a  pretentious  structure 
of  brick  and  terra-cotta,  crowning  a  hill.  A  formal  and 
a  sunken  garden — the  latter  with  a  pergola  and  a  Temple 
of  Venus — grassy  terraces,  rows  and  clumps  of  ornamental 
trees  and  dwarfed  shrubs,  dazzling  patches  of  flowers 
and  empty  green  lawns,  evidence  the  skill  of  a  highly  paid 
landscape-artist ;  while  stables,  greenhouses,  a  natatorium, 
tennis  and  squash  courts  in  the  background,  testify  to 
the  expensive  habits  of  the  owners.  The  gardens  are  a 
feature  of  the  estate ;  a  fortune  is  represented  in  the  stone 
pools,  the  massive  urns,  the  statuary,  and  the  potted 
plants.  Spotless,  brilliant-hued  tiled  walks  lead  between 
riotous  beds  ablaze  with  every  color,  and  the  main 
driveway  swings  to  the  crest  of  a  ridge  that  overlooks 
this  charming  prospect. 

Bert  Hayman  drove  the  Whartons  out  from  the  city, 
and  Lorelei's  first  glimpse  of  Fennellcourt  was  such  that 
she  forgot  her  vague  dislike  of  Hayman  himself.  Bert, 
who  had  met  her  and  Bob  for  luncheon,  had  turned 
out  to  be,  instead  of  a  polished  man  of  the  world,  a  glib 
youth  with  an  artificial  laugh  and  a  pair  of  sober,  heavy- 

335 


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lidded  eyes.  Lorelei's  shyness  at  meeting  him  had  quickly 
disappeared  when  she  found  that  he  knew  more  theatrical 
people  than  she  and  that  he  was  quite  unable  to  talk 
interestingly  about  anything  except  choruses  and  cory 
phees.  Of  the  former  he  was  a  merciless  critic,  of  the 
latter  he  was  an  enthusiastic  supporter.  That  he  pos 
sessed  a  keen  appreciation  of  feminine  beauty  he  showed 
by  surrendering  unconditionally  to  Lorelei's  charms. 
She  might  have  been  flattered  had  he  not  pressed  his 
attentions  over-boldly.  As  it  was,  seeing  that  Bob  was 
pleased  at  the  tribute  to  his  wife's  loveliness  rather 
than  offended  at  his  friend's  effrontery,  she  did  her  best 
to  smother  her  resentment. 

As  Hayman's  car  rolled  up  the  driveway  and  the  beau 
ties  of  Fennellcourt  displayed  themselves  Lorelei  found 
her  heart  throbbing  violently.  Was  not  this  the  beginning 
of  a  glorious  adventure?  Was  not  life  unfolding  at  last? 
Was  she  not  upon  the  threshold  of  a  new  world?  The 
flutter  in  her  breast  was  answer. 

Bert  led  the  way  through  an  impressive  hall  that 
bisected  the  building,  then  out  upon  a  stately  balustraded 
stone  terrace,  where,  in  the  grateful  shade  of  gaudy 
awnings,  a  dozen  people  were  chatting  at  tea-tables. 

Mrs.  Fennell,  the  hostess,  a  plain-faced,  dumpy  young 
matron,  welcomed  the  new-comers,  then  made  Lorelei 
known.  As  for  Bob,  he  needed  no  introductions ;  a  noisy 
outburst  greeted  him,  and  Lorelei's  heart  warmed  at  the 
welcome.  There  were  a  few  embarrassing  moments 
when  she  felt  critical  eyes  measuring  her,  but  her  first 
instinctive  appraisal  of  the  other  women  made  her  easy. 
It  needed  no  more  than  a  modest  estimate  of  her  own 
attractions  to  tell  her  that  she  was  the  smartest  person 
in  this  smart  assembly;  the  swift,  startled  admiration  of 
the  men  proved  it  beyond  question. 

A  few  moments  of  chatter,  then  she  and  Bob  were  led 
into  the  house  again  ajid  up  to  a  cool,  wide  bedroom. 

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As  Lorelei  removed  her  motor-coat  and  bonnet  she  ex 
claimed  breathlessly:  "What  a  gorgeous  house!  And 
those  people!  They  weren't  the  least  bit  formal." 

Bob  laughed.  "Formality  is  about  the  last  thing  they're 
famous  for.  There's  liable  to  be  too  much  informality. 
Say!  You  made  those  dames  look  like  the  Monday 
morning  wash-ladies'  parade.  I  knew  you  would." 

"You  said  this  was  the  younger  set — but  that  awful 
Thompson-Bellaire  widow  is  here,  and  that  blonde  girl 
I  met  with  her." 

"Alice  Wyeth?" 

"Yes.     I  thought  she  was  going  to  kiss  you." 

Bob  grinned.  "So  did  I.  She  will,  too,  if  she  feels 
like  it." 

"Won't  you  have  anything  to  say  about  it?" 

"What  could  I  say?  Alice  does  just  as  she  likes.  So- 
does  everybody  else,  for  that  matter.  I've  never  gone 
in  for  this  sort  of  thing  very  much." 

After  a  moment  Lorelei  ventured,  "I  suppose  they're 
all  hard  drinkers — " 

"That  wasn't  spring  water  you  saw  in  their  glasses." 

"Are  you — going  to?"     Lorelei  eyed  him  anxiously. 

"  I  can't  very  well 'make  myself  conspicuous  by  refusing 
everything;  I  don't  want  to  look  like  a  zebra  in  a  hen-yard 
— and  a  cocktail  before  dinner  wouldn't  hurt  anybody." 
Noting  his  wife's  expression  he  kissed  her  lightly.  "Now 
don't  spoil  your  first  party  by  worrying  over  me.  Just 
forget  you're  married  and  have  a  good  time." 

Music  greeted  them  as  they  descended  the  stairs,  and 
they  found  some  of  the  guests  dancing  to  the  strains  of 
a  giant  orchestrion  built  into  the  music-room.  Hayman 
promptly  seized  upon  Lorelei  and  whirled  her  away, 
but  not  before  she  saw  the  Wyeth  blonde  making  for 
Bob  as  an  eagle  makes  for  its  prey. 

Society  was  tango-mad.  The  guests  could  not  wait 
for  evening,  but  indulged  their  latest  fancy  in  the  open 
22  337 


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air  and  in  the  light  of  day.  Doubtless  the  Naiads  used  to 
dance  in  daylight,  when  they  made  merry,  but  modern 
terpsichorean  figures  are  suitable  only  for  the  evening. 
The  spectacle  of  a  red-faced,  harem-skirted  matron  wab 
bling  through  a  one-step,  her  billowing  amplitude  re 
strained  only  by  a  boneless  six-inch  corset,  is  even  less 
classic  than  the  antics  of  a  dancing  bear. 

Guests  continued  to  arrive  from  time  to  time;  some 
from  Westchester  and  the  Connecticut  shore,  others  from 
neighboring  estates.  One  couple  in  riding-clothes,  out 
for  a  gallop,  dismounted  and  stayed  for  a  trot.  The  huge 
tiled  terrace  began  to  resemble  a  Broadway  the  dansant. 

There  was  more  freedom,  more  vivacity,  than  Lorelei 
was  accustomed  to,  even  in  the  gayest  down-town  resorts ; 
the  fun  was  swift  and  hilarious,  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  drinking.  Bob,  after  a  manful  struggle  against  his 
desires  and  a  frightened  resistance  to  the  advances  of 
Miss  Wyeth,  had  fled  to  the  billiard-room.  The  Widow 
T.-B.,  odorous  of  cocktails,  plowed  through  the  intricacies 
of  the  latest  dances,  wallowing  like  a  bluff-bowed  tramp 
steamer,  full  to  the  hatches  with  a  cargo  of  rum  and  sugar. 
Bert  Hayman,  fatuously  inflamed  with  Lorelei's  beauty, 
waged  a  bitter  contest  with  the  other  men  for  her  favor. 
He  appropriated  her,  he  was  affectionate;  he  ventured  to 
become  suggestive  in  a  snickering,  covert  way.  His  inti 
mate  manner  of  dancing  would  not  have  been  tolerated 
in  any  public  place,  and  Lorelei  was  upon  the  point  of 
objecting,  until  she  saw  that  the  others,  men  and  women 
alike,  were  exaggerating  the  movements  and  entwining 
their  limbs  even  more  pronouncedly.  Harden  Fennell, 
Lorelei's  host,  explained: 

"We  don't  dance  in  the  cafe's  any  more.  They're  so 
strict  it's  no  fun." 

Fennell  was  a  slight  man  of  thirty  or  fifty,  colorless  of 
face  and  predatory  of  nose.  He  had  a  shocking  sense  of 
humor,  which  he  displayed  by  telling  Lorelei  a  story  that 

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left  her  mute  with  indignation  until  she  saw  that  he  was 
quite  unconscious  of  any  breach  of  etiquette.  When  he 
finally  left  her  she  was  sadly  bewildered  and  found  herself 
wondering  if  the  occurrences  of  this  afternoon  were  not 
a  part  of  some  bad  dream.  Certainly  such  an  erotic 
atmosphere  could  not  be  considered  "smart,"  this  com 
plete  freedom  from  restraint  could  not  be  a  recognized 
social  usage.  The  suspicion  that  Fennell  had  presumed 
upon  her  reputation  as  a  show-girl  to  lower  the  bars  of 
decorum  troubled  her  until  she  heard  him  repeat  his  vile 
story  to  other  women.  From  the  general  laughter  she 
judged  that  her  own  ideas  would  be  thought  Puritanical. 

She  became  interested  in  watching  Miss  Courtenay, 
the  girl  in  the  riding-habit,  one  of  the  season's  debutantes, 
who,  it  seemed,  was  especially  susceptible  to  the  influence 
of  liquor. 

"If  you  shake  a  bar-towel  at  Elizabeth  she  goes  under 
the  table,"  Bert  Hayman  explained.  "We  love  to  get  her 
full."  It  excited  great  merriment  when,  some  time  later, 
Miss  Courtenay  had  to  be  sent  home  in  an  automobile, 
leaving  her  saddle-horse  to  be  led  by  her  escort. 

Lorelei  was  glad  when  it  came  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 
As  she  went  to  her  room  Mrs.  Fennell  stopped  her  on  the 
stairs  to  say: 

"My  dear,  you're  stunning  in  that  little  black  and 
white.  Where  did  you  get  it?" 

Lorelei  gave  her  the  name  of  her  tailor. 

"Really!  I  never  heard  of  her."  Mrs.  Fennell  smiled 
and  laid  a  soft  hand  upon  her  guest's  arm.  "Elizabeth 
Courtenay  was  frantically  jealous  of  you." 

"Of  me?    I  don't  understand." 

"She  and  Bert  are  great  friends — and  he's  gone  perfect 
ly  daft  over  you.  Why,  he's  telling  everybody."  Lorelei 
flushed,  to  the  evident  amusement  of  her  hostess,  who 
ran  on:  "Oh,  Bert  means  it!  I  never  heard  him  rave  so. 
Quite  a  compliment,  my  dear !  He  declares  he's  going  to 

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win  you,  so  make  up  your  mind  to  it — he  never  takes 
'no'  for  an  answer."  With  a  playful  pat  she  went  on  her 
way,  leaving  the  young  wife  weak  with  dismay. 

When  Bob  came  in  he  betrayed  an  elation  only  too 
familiar. 

"You've  been  drinking!"  cried  Lorelei. 

"I  had  to;  I  ran  fifteen  three  times.  My  abstinence 
is  the  marvel  of  the  whole  party.  Why,  Clayton  has  com 
posed  a  song  about  it." 

"I'm  afraid—" 

"Say!  You  can't  help  sneezing  when  you  have  a  cold. 
What's  a  fellow  going  to  do  in  a  crowd  like  this?  But 
don't  worry,  I  know  when  to  quit." 

In  truth  he  did  seem  better  able  to  take  care  of  himself 
than  most  of  the  men  Lorelei  had  seen,  so  she  said  no 
more. 

As  he  throttled  himself  with  his  evening  tie  Bob  gasped: 
"Having  a  good  time?" 

"Ye-es!"  Lorelei  could  not  summon  courage  for  a 
negative  answer;  she  could  not  confess  that  her  dream 
had  turned  out  wretchedly,  and  that  what  Bob  seemed 
to  consider  simply  the  usual  thing  impressed  her  as  ab 
normal  and  wanton. 

"  Well,  that's  good,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  strong  for  these 
week-end  slaughters,  but  it's  something  you'll  have  to 
do." 

"Is  all  society  like — this?"  she  inquired. 

"Um-m,  yes  and  no!    Society  is  like  a  layer-cake — " 

"Because  it's  made  of  dough?" 

Bob  laughed.  "Partly!  Anyhow,  the  upper  crust  is 
icy,  and  while  the  lower  layer  is  just  as  rich  as  those 
above,  it's  more  indigestible.  There's  the  heavy,  soggy 
layers  in  between,  too.  I  don't  know  any  of  that  crowd. 
They're  mostly  Dodos — the  kind  that  endow  colleges. 
This  younger  set  keeps  the  whole  cake  from  getting  taste 
less." 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

After  a  while  Lorelei  ventured:  "I'm  still  a  little  ner 
vous.  I  wish  you'd  stay  close  to  me  this  evening." 

"Can't  be  done,"  Bob  declared.  "It's  a  rule  at  Fen- 
nellcourt  that  husbands  must  ignore  their  wives.  Betty 
doesn't  invite  many  married  couples,  and  a  wife-lover  is 
considered  a  pest.  When  in  Rome  do  as  the  tourists  do." 

Lorelei  finished  dressing  in  silence. 

Dinner  was  quite  different  to  anything  Bob's  wife  had 
ever  experienced,  and  if  the  afternoon  had  been  embar 
rassing  to  her  the  evening  was  a  trial.  As  the  cocktails 
were  served,  Harden  Fennell  distinguished  himself  by 
losing  his  balance  and  falling  backward,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  his  guests.  No  one  went  to  his  assistance; 
he  regained  his  feet  by  climbing  a  high-backed  chair, 
hand  over  hand,  and  during  the  dinner  he  sat  for  the  most 
part  in  a  comatose  state,  his  eyes  bleared  and  staring, 
his  tongue  unresponsive.  Lorelei  had  little  opportunity 
of  watching  him,  since  Bert  Hayman  monopolized  her 
attention.  The  latter  made  love  openly,  violently  now, 
and  it  added  to  her  general  disgust  to  see  that  Bob  had 
again  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  Miss  Wyeth,  who  made 
no  secret  of  her  fondness  for  him. 

Lorelei  was  not  the  only  one  to  take  special  note  of  the 
blonde  girl's  infatuation.  Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire  was 
equally  observant  and  at  length  made  her  disapproval 
patent  by  a  remark  that  set  the  table  laughing  and  drove 
the  blood  from  Lorelei's  face.  As  if  further  to  vent  her 
resentment  at  Bob,  the  widow  turned  spitefully  upon  his 
wife.  Seeing  Lorelei  wince,  Hayman  murmured  con 
solingly:  "Oh!  Don't  mind  the  old  heifer.  She's  jeal 
ous  of  any  man  Alice  speaks  to." 

But  Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire  seemed  to  take  a  quench 
less  delight  in  embarrassing  her  victim,  and  sometime 
later  Lorelei  heard  her  explain  to  the  man  on  her  right: 

"We  weren't  surprised  in  the  least.  .  .  .  Bob's  always 
doing  some  crazy  thing  when  he's  drunk.  .  .  .  His  latest 

34i 


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fancy  .  .  .  pretty,  of  course,  but  .  .  .  from  some  Western 
village,  I  believe  .  .  .  can't  possibly  last.  Why  should 
it?"  The  words  were  purposely  made  audible,  and  during 
the  rest  of  the  meal,  when  Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire  was 
not  bitingly  sarcastic  to  Lorelei,  she  was  offensively 
patronizing. 

Bert  Hayman,  it  transpired,  was  not  only  an  authority 
on  musical  comedies  and  pony  ballets,  but  he  was  equally 
well  posted  on  dogs,  and  a  debutante  across  the  table 
appealed  to  him  for  advice  in  breeding  an  Airedale  bitch 
she  had  purchased  at  the  last  show.  The  discussion  that 
followed  was  sufficiently  frank  to  embarrass  the  aristo 
cratic  Airedale  herself  had  she  been  present,  but  it  did 
not  appear  to  shock  the  diners. 

Mrs.  Madden,  a  neighbor,  who  was  a  leader  in  the  polo 
set,  dropped  in  for  coffee  and  a  cigarette.  Lorelei  was 
surprised  to  see  her  clad  in  a  well-fitting  man's  dinner- 
suit.  Mrs.  Madden's  hair  was  tightly  drawn  back,  with 
a  neat  part  on  the  left  side;  she  smoked  extra  large  cigar 
ettes,  from  a  man's  jeweled  case;  her  voice  was  coarse, 
her  mannerisms  distinctly  masculine.  Nor  was  this 
eccentricity  a  passing  whim;  she  masqueraded  thus — so 
Hayman  affirmed — whenever  she  dared,  and  had  once 
attempted  to  attend  a  horse-show  in  trousers. 

After  dinner  Lorelei  had  a  better  opportunity  than  dur 
ing  the  afternoon  of  becoming  acquainted  with  the  women 
of  the  party,  but  the  experience  was  not  pleasant.  Mrs. 
Thompson-Bellaire  had  struck  a  popular  note  by  patron 
izing  her,  and  the  other  women  followed  suit.  Lorelei 
amused  and  interested  them  in  a  casual  way,  but  she 
was  made  to  understand  that  they  regarded  her  not  as 
Bob's  wife  in  any  real  sense,  but  rather  as  his  latest  and 
most  fleeting  fancy.  His  marriage  they  seemed  to  look 
upon  as  a  bizarre  adventure,  such  as  might  happen  to 
any  man  in  their  set  who  was  looking  for  amusement. 

There  was  more  dancing  during  the  evening.  Miss 

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Society  was  tango-mad.     The  guests  could  not  wait  f 


evening,  but  indulged  their  latest  fancy  in  the  open  air. 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

Wyeth  continued  to  monopolize  Bob,  and  Lorelei  was  of 
fended  to  note  that  his  resistance  gave  signs  of  weakening. 
She  smothered  her  feelings,  however,  and  remonstrated 
gently,  only  to  find  that  he  was  in  no  condition  to  listen. 
The  dinner  had  been  too  much  for  him. 

There  were  many  gaieties  to  enliven  the  party,  and, 
although  outward  decencies  were  observed  after  a  fashion, 
Lorelei  was  sickened  by  the  sheer  license  that  she  felt  on 
every  hand.  Unable  to  endure  the  growing  heat  of  Hay- 
man's  advances,  she  slipped  away  at  last  and  hid  herself 
in  another  room,  only  to  overhear  a  quarrel  between 
Alice  Wyeth  and  Mrs.  Thompson-Bellaire,  the  fierceness 
of  which  was  only  equaled  by  its  absurdity.  Lorelei  stole 
out  of  the  room  again  with  ears  burning;  her  dislike  of 
the  muscular  widow  had  turned  to  loathing,  and  she  was 
glad  to  return  to  the  lights  and  laughter.  She  had  a 
wild  desire  to  make  her  excuses  and  escape  from  Fennell- 
court,  but  Bob  had  disappeared,  and  she  gathered  that 
he  and  Bert  were  playing  off  some  fabulous  wager  in 
the  billiard-room.  Pleading  a  headache,  she  excused 
herself  as  soon  as  she  could. 

"So  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Fennell;  then,  with  a  knowing 
laugh:  "There's  no  likelihood  of  Bob's  annoying  you 
for  some  time.  Bertie  will  see  to  that." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ONCE  in  her  room,  Lorelei  gave  way  to  the  indignation 
that  had  been  slowly  growing  in  her  breast.  How 
dared  Bob  introduce  her  to  such  people!  If  this  was  the 
world  in  which  he  had  moved  before  his  marriage  he  had 
shown  his  wife  an  insult  by  bringing  her  into  it.  Surely 
people  like  the  Fennells,  Bert  Hayman,  Mrs.  Thompson- 
Bellaire,  the  Madden  woman,  were  not  typical  members 
of  New  York's  exclusive  circles !  Applied  to  them,  '  smart ' 
was  a  laughably  inadequate  term;  they  were  worse  than 
fast;  they  were  frankly  vicious.  This  was  more  than  a 
gay  week-end  party;  it  was  an  orgy.  Lorelei's  anger  at 
her  betrayal  was  so  keen  that  she  dared  not  send  for 
Bob  immediately  for  fear  of  speaking  too  violently,  but 
she  assured  herself  that  she  would  leave  in  the  morning, 
even  though  he  chose  to  remain. 

Still  in  a  blazing  temper,  she  disrobed  and  sat  down  to 
calm  herself  and  to  wait  for  her  husband.  A  half-hour 
passed,  then  another;  at  last  she  sent  a  maid  in  quest 
of  him,  but  the  report  she  received  was  not  reassuring; 
Bob  was  scarcely  in  a  condition  to  come  to  his  room. 
Lorelei's  lips  were  white  as  she  dismissed  the  servant. 

By  and  by  the  music  ceased.  She  heard  people  passing 
in  the  hall,  and  distinguished  Betty  Fennell's  voice  bidding 
good  night  to  some  one.  Still  she  waited. 

Heavy  with  resentment,  sick  from  disillusionment,  she 
finally  crept  into  bed,  leaving  one  electric  candle  burning 
upon  her  dressing-table.  Although  she  knew  she  could 
not  sleep,  she  determined  to  postpone  a  scene  with  Bob 
by  feigning  slumber. 

348 


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When  the  door  opened  with  a  cautious  hand  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  lay  still.  She  heard  Bob  turn  the  key  and 
tiptoe  toward  her,  but  even  when  he  stood  over  her  and 
she  caught  the  odor  of  his  garments  she  did  not  lift  her 
lids.  A  moment  passed,  then  some  sixth  sense  gave  her 
warning,  and  her  eyes  flew  open. 

Hayman  was  standing  at  the  bedside,  peering  down  at 
her.  He  extended  a  cautious  hand,  saying:  "Don't  make 
a  fuss.  Everything  is  all — " 

Lorelei  spoke  sharply,  but  with  a  restraint  that  sur 
prised  her.  "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"What  am  I — ?  Why,  nothing  especial.  Had  to  tell 
you  good  night,  you  know."  He  laughed  guardedly,  ner 
vously.  She  saw  that  he  was  considerably  drunker  than 
when  she  had  escaped  from  his  attentions,  but  evidently 
he  knew  quite  well  what  he  was  about. 

"Kindly  get  out,  and  close  the  door  after  you,"  she 
directed,  still  without  raising  her  voice. 

"The  door's  closed — and  locked,"  he  snickered.  Lore 
lei  sat  up  with  eyes  blazing.  "Oh,  don't  worry  about 
Bob,"  muttered  Hayman,  reassuringly.  "Bob's  good  for 
two  hours  yet — I've  seen  to  that — and  he  couldn't  find 
his  way  up-stairs,  anyhow.  Say!  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
You've  got  me  going,  Lorelei." 

"You've  been  drinking,  Mr.Hayman.  I'm  willing  to  think 
that  you  made  a  mistake  in  the  room  if  you  go  at  once." 

The  intruder  took  no  warning  from  her  crisp  tones  nor 
from  the  fact  that  her  twilight  eyes  were  as  dark  as  a 
midnight  sky.  On  the  contrary,  he  suddenly  bent  low 
over  her,  his  odorous  breath  beating  into  her  face,  his 
arms  reaching  for  her. 

With  the  lithe  alertness  of  a  leopard  she  evaded  him; 
the  next  instant  the  bed  was  between  them  and  she  had 
whipped  a  negligee  about  her.  For  an  instant  they  faced 
each  other;  then  she  pointed  a  quivering  arm,  gasping 
in  a  voice  that  sounded  strange  and  throaty  to  her  ears: 

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"Get  out!    Get  out!    You— beast!" 

Hayman  was  unused  to  opposition.  He  had  engineered 
this  moment  carefully;  a  galling  anger  rose  to  meet  hers 
as  he  felt  his  labors  wasted. 

"  Don't  get  flighty,"  he  growled.  "  You  knew  I'd  come, 
didn't  you?  Why'd  you  leave  your  door  unlocked  if  you 
didn't  expect  me?" 

Lorelei  stepped  to  her  dressing-table  and  pressed  the 
pearl  push-button,  holding  her  finger  upon  it  and  staring 
at  Hayman. 

"Oh,  ring  and  be  damned !"  he  cried.  "Call  Bob.  I'll 
tell  him  you  asked  me  in."  He  moved  toward  her,  his 
body  swaying,  his  hands  shaking,  his  face  convulsed;  but 
as  he  groped  forward  she  snatched  one  of  the  electric 
candlesticks  from  among  her  toilet  articles  and  swung 
it  above  her  head.  The  fixture  was  of  heavy  brass,  and 
its  momentum  ripped  the  connection  from  its  socket; 
her  arm  was  tense  with  the  strength  of  utter  loathing  as 
she  brought  the  weapon  down.  Hayman  reeled  away, 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands  and  cursing  wildly;  then, 
profiting  by  his  retreat,  Lorelei  was  at  the  door,  had  turned 
the  key,  and  was  in  the  hall  before  he  could  prevent  her. 
Guided  more  by  instinct  than  by  reason  or  memory,  she 
found  Mrs.  Fennell's  chamber  and  pounded  upon  its  door 
with  blind  fury.  She  heard  a  stir  from  the  direction 
whence  she  had  come,  and  Hayman's  voice  calling  some 
thing  unintelligible;  then  Mrs.  Fennell's  startled  face 
appeared  before  her. 

"What's  the  matter?  My  dear!  You'll  wake  every 
body  in  the  house." 

"Your  brother— forced  his  way  into— my  room." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  Mrs.  Fennell  drew 
her  guest  swiftly  inside.  "Hush!  Don't  make  a  show  of 
yourself." 

"Wha's  all  this?"  came  from  Harden  Fennell,  who  was 
sprawled  in  a  chintz  -  covered  easy -chair,  minus  coat, 

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waistcoat,  and  collar.  He  rose  slowly  as  Lorelei,  in 
coherent  with  rage,  poured  out  her  story.  "Wha's 
trouble?"  he  mumbled.  "Bob's  all  right — and  so's  Bert. 
They're  both  drunk,  but  Bob's  the  drunkes'.  What  're 
you  talkin'  about,  anyhow?" 

"Be  still!"  his  wife  cried,  sharply.  "It's  Bertie  again." 
Then  of  Lorelei  she  inquired:  "But  why  did  you  let  him 
into  your  room  if — if  you  were  going  to  quarrel — " 

"Mrs.  Fennell!" 

"Now,  now!  Don't  be  silly.  Bertie  didn't  mean  any 
thing;  he's  intoxicated  and — there's  no  harm  done.  You 
said  you  struck  him  with  something.  I  presume  he's 
hurt,  and  everybody  in  the  house  will  know  about  it." 

"Got  into  your  room,  eh?"  Harden  Fennell  said,  thick 
ly,  then  exploded  in  moist  laughter.  "Bertie's  work  is  all 
right,  but  it's  coarse.  Don't  you  mind  him,  Mrs.  Whar- 
ton." 

"Will  you  send  some  one  for  Bob?"  Lorelei  asked,  more 
quietly.  "I  want  to — leave." 

But  her  hostess  protested.  "Now  why  stir  up  trouble? 
Bob  is  drunk ;  he  and  Bertie  are  old  friends.  Bertie  will 
apologize  in  the  morning,  and — after  all,  it  was  nothing. 
I  told  you  he  was  mad  about  you.  He's  just  like  any 
other  man,  and  you  shouldn't  have  encouraged  him." 

"Will  you  send  for  my  husband?" 

Mrs.  Fennell's  gaze  hardened;  she  stiffened  herself, 
saying  coldly: 

"Why,  certainly,  if  you  insist  upon  rousing  the  whole 
household;  but  he's  in  no  condition  to  understand  this 
silly  affair.  You  might  have  some  consideration  for  us." 

"Sure!"  echoed  the  husband.  "Go  to  sleep  and  forget 
it.  Don't  spoil  the  party." 

"You  realize  we  have  other  guests?"  snapped  Mrs. 
Fennell. 

Bright  disks  of  color  were  burning  in  Lorelei's  cheeks; 
she  was  smiling  peculiarly. 


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"Rest  easy,"  she  said.  "I've  no  wish  to  embarrass 
you  nor  to  drag  my  husband  into  this  rotten  business. 
It  seems  he's  as  modern  as  the  rest  of  you,  but  I'm — old- 
fashioned." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Hayman's  voice, 
calling: 

"Betty!    Let  me  in!" 

His  sister  opened  the  door  an  inch  or  two.  "You 
mustn't  come  in  now,"  she  expostulated,  then  cried, 
sharply:  "Why,  you're  badly  hurt.  You're  all  bloody!" 
As  Hayman  agreed  in  a  burst  of  profanity  she  exclaimed 
fretfully:  "Oh,  this  is  dreadful!  Go  to  your  room,  for 
Heaven's  sake!  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  with  this — with 
Mrs.  Wharton."  Bert  continued  to  growl  until  his 
brother-in-law  led  him  away  down  the  hall.  Then  Mrs. 
Fennell  turned  acidly  upon  her  outraged  guest.  "Well, 
you've  caused  enough  trouble,  it  seems  to  me,  without 
involving  the  rest  of  us  in  it.  A  woman  of  your  experi 
ence  should  be  more  careful.  I'm  sure  Bertie  never  would 
have  taken  such  a  liberty  if  he  hadn't  thought  you  were 
accustomed  to  such  things." 

Lorelei  broke  out  sharply.  "You're  as  badly  mistaken 
as  your  brother  was.  But — I  should  have  been  more 
careful;  I  suppose  a  woman  of  my  experience  shouldn't 
have  come  here  at  all.  Now,  I  don't  want  to  cause  any 
trouble  nor  scandal,  so  if  you'll  permit  me  to  thank  you 
for  your  hospitality  I'll  leave  at  once." 

"Leave?    At  this  hour?" 

"In  ten  minutes,  if  you'll  rouse  a  chauffeur  and  let  him 
drive  me  to  the  station." 

"Nonsense!    You  can't  get  Bob — " 

"Bob  needn't  know  anything  about  it;  I'm  sure  that 
will  be  pleasanter  all  around.  I'll  go  alone."  Lorelei's 
forced  smile  bared  her  even,  white  teeth.  "Of  course, 
if  it's  too  much  trouble  I  can  walk — " 

"No  trouble  at  all."  Mrs.  Fennell  showed  some  relief. 
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"I  think  you're  acting  very  rudely — but  I  dare  say  it 
would  save  a  lot  of  unpleasantness;  Bertie's  furious — he 
and  Bob  might  fight.  I — I'm  dreadfully  sorry.  Still, 
I  can't  permit  you — " 

"In  ten  minutes,  then.  If  there's  no  train  I  may  ask 
your  chauffeur  to  drive  me  into  the  city." 

"Why,  to  be  sure!  Er — what  shall  I  tell  Bob  when  he 
asks  for  you?" 

"Use  your  own  judgment,  please.  You  can  handle 
drunken  men  better  than  I.  And  don't  trouble  to  send 
a  maid  to  my  room.  I'll  be  down-stairs  when  the  car 
comes." 

The  hostess  continued  to  demur  feebly;  but  Lorelei 
cut  short  any  further  discussion,  and,  once  behind  her  own 
locked  door,  she  dressed  with  feverish  haste.  Her  only 
desire  now  was  to  escape  from  Fennellcourt  and  all  its 
guests  as  quickly  as  possible.  Her  thoughts  concerning 
Bob  at  the  moment  were  too  much  involved  in  anger  at 
the  Fennells  and  at  Hayman  to  be  quite  coherent. 

She  was  pacing  the  gloom  of  the  porte-cochere  when  an 
automobile  swung  out  from  among  the  trees  and  swept 
the  shadows  flying  with  its  brushes  of  flame.  As  she  di 
rected  the  driver,  from  an  open  window  behind  her  came 
a  drunken  shout ;  a  burst  of  men's  laughter  followed  the 
car  as  it  rolled  away. 

So  that  was  the  charmed  circle  to  which  she  had  aspired, 
those  the  people  she  had  envied;  behind  her  was  that  life 
to  which  she  had  sold  herself,  and  this  was  the  end  of  her 
dream  of  fine  ladies  and  gallant  gentlemen!  Lorelei 
scarcely  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry.  As  she  stared 
out  at  the  night  shapes  capering  past  she  felt  acute  per 
sonal  shame  that  she  had  been  tricked  into  even  a  brief 
association  with  so  vile  a  crew.  That  uproar  of  men's 
voices  rang  in  her  ears  like  a  jeering  farewell,  and  she 
realized  that  in  all  probability  her  flight  would  appear 
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ridiculous  to  Bob's  friends.  Women  like  the  kalsomined 
widow,  the  masculine  matron,  the  jaded  Wyeth  girl, 
would  echo  that  laughter  and  score  her  with  their  gossip 
on  the  morrow;  the  thought  turned  her  mind  bitterly 
toward  Bob.  He  had  denied  her  by  bringing  her  into  con 
tact  with  those  libertines.  He  had  left  her  defenseless 
against  their  insults  and  unprotected  from  the  assaults  of 
men  he  knew  to  be  capable  of  anything.  He  had  told  her 
to  forget  she  was  married  and  have  a  good  time;  he  had 
refused  her  appeal  for  protection.  She  asked  herself 
dazedly  what  sort  of  a  creature  he  could  be.  Of  a  sud 
den  the  old  life  of  the  theater  and  the  cafe"  seemed  clean 
as  opposed  to  the  fetid  existence  behind  her;  even  Jim, 
adventurer,  crook,  blackmailer  that  he  was,  appeared 
wholesome  compared  with  men  like  Hayman  and  his 
brother-in-law.  Although  Lorelei,  under  ordinary  cir 
cumstances,  was  even-tempered,  her  anger,  once  aroused, 
was  tenacious.  As  she  brooded  over  her  humiliation  her 
indignation  at  Bob  began  to  take  definite  shape  and  pur 
pose. 

She  reached  the  little  apartment  in  the  hushed  hours 
before  the  dawn,  and  straightway  began  her  packing. 
Since  Bob  was  doubtless  in  a  drunken  stupor  which  would 
last  for  hours,  she  did  not  hurry. 

Only  once  did  she  halt  in  her  labors,  and  then  only  from 
surprise.  In  a  bureau  drawer  she  uncovered  a  bundle  of 
letters  and  documents  addressed  to  her  husband,  which 
in  some  way  aroused  her  curiosity.  Swallowing  her 
qualms,  she  examined  the  contents.  They  proved  to  be, 
in  the  main,  letters  from  Bob's  mother  and  father  urging 
him  to  break  off  his  marriage.  Those  from  Mr.  Wharton 
were  characteristically  intolerant  and  dictatorial;  those 
from  Bob's  mother  were  plaintive  and  infinitely  sad. 
Both  parents,  she  perceived,  had  exhausted  every  effort 
to  win  their  son  from  his  infatuation,  both  believed  Lorelei 
to  be  an  infamous  woman  bent  upon  his  destruction,  and, 

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judging  from  the  typewritten  reports  inclosed  with  some 
of  the  father's  letters,  there  was  ample  reason  for  such  a 
belief.  These  reports  covered  Lorelei's  every  movement, 
they  bared  every  bit  of  ancient  scandal  connected  with 
her,  they  recounted  salacious  stage  gossip  as  fact  and 
falsely  construed  those  actions  which  were  capable  of  more 
than  one  interpretation.  It  gave  the  girl  a  peculiar  sensa 
tion  of  unreality  to  see  her  life  laid  out  before  her  eyes  in 
so  distorted  a  shape,  and  when  she  read  the  business-like 
biographies  of  herself  and  the  members  of  her  family 
she  could  only  marvel  at  Bob's  faith.  For  evidently  he 
had  not  answered  a  single  letter.  Nevetherless,  after  pre 
paring  an  early  breakfast,  she  sent  her  trunks  down-stairs 
and  'phoned  for  a  taxi-cab. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ON  Tuesday  afternoon  a  badly  shaken,  exceedingly 
frightened  young  man  called  at  Campbell  Pope's 
boarding-house. 

"Good  Lord,  Bob!  Been  on  another  bat?"  cried  Pope, 
at  sight  of  his  caller.  Wharton  took  a  fleeting  glance  at 
himself  in  a  mirror  and  nodded,  noting  for  the  first  time 
the  sacks  beneath  his  eyes,  the  haggard  lines  from  nostrils 
to  lip-corners. 

"I'm  all  in.     Lorelei's  quit  me,"  he  said,  dully. 

"Quit  you!"  Pope  frowned.     "Tell  me  about  it." 

"  Well,  I  climbed  the  vine  again  and  fell  off.  She  packed 
up — disappeared — been  gone  since  Saturday  night,  and 
I  can't  find  her.  Nobody  seems  to  know  where  she  is.  I 
came  up  for  air  Sunday,  but  .  .  .  I'm  hard  hit,  Pope. 
I'm  ready  to  quit  the  game  if  I  can't  find  her;  me  for  a  sea- 
foam  pillow,  sure.  Oh,  I'm  not  kidding — I'll  start  walk 
ing  from  here  toward  Jersey.  .  .  .  God!  I  keep  thinking 
that  maybe  she  took  the  river.  You  see,  I'm  all  gone." 
He  sank  into  a  chair,  twitching  and  trembling  in  a  ner 
vous  collapse. 

"Better  have  a  drink,"  Pope  suggested;  but  Bob  re 
turned  roughly: 

"That's  what  broke  up  the  sketch.  I  got  stewed  at 
Fennellcourt — high-hat  week-end  party — fast  crowd,  and 
the  usual  trimmings.  Never  again!  That  is,  if  I  find 
my  wife." 

"Fennellcourt!  Suppose  you  tell  me  all  about  it.  If 
there's  a  chance  that  it's  suicide — "  Pope's  reportorial 

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instinct  brought  the  last  word  into  juxtaposition  with 
"Fennellcourt,"  and  he  saw  black  head-lines. 

"Judge  for  yourself.  Maybe  you  can  help  me;  nobody 
else  can."  Bob  recounted  the  story  of  the  house-party; 
how  he  and  Lorelei  had  met  Bert  Hayman;  how,  once  in 
the  company  of  his  old  friends,  he  had  succumbed  to  his 
weakness,  and  how  he  had  caroused  most  of  Saturday 
night.  He  told  Pope  that  he  could  remember  little  of 
Sunday's  occurrences,  having  been  plunged  in  an  alcoholic 
stupor  so  benumbing  that  not  until  late  that  evening  had 
he  fully  grasped  the  fact  that  Lorelei  had  gone.  Even 
then  he  was  too  befuddled  to  act.  Neither  Mrs.  Fennell 
nor  her  husband  could  give  him  any  help,  and  Bert  Hay 
man,  who  had  been  with  Lorelei  all  Saturday  evening,  had 
no  explanation  to  give  of  her  departure.  Bob  remembered 
in  passing  that  Bert  had  been  confined  to  his  room  all  day 
Sunday  as  the  result  of  a  fall  or  an  accident  of  some  sort. 
Monday  morning,  while  still  suffering  from  the  effects 
of  his  spree,  Bob  had  returned  to  the  city  to  find  his  home 
deserted,  and  for  twenty-four  sleepless  hours  now  he  had 
been  hunting  for  his  wife.  He  had  called  up  Lorelei's- 
family,  but  they  could  give  him  no  clue;  nor  could  he 
find  trace  of  her  in  any  other  quarter.  So,  as  a  last  re 
sort  before  calling  in  the  police,  he  had  come  to  Pope. 
When  he  had  finished  his  somewhat  muddled  tale  he 
stared  at  the  critic  with  a  look  of  dumb  appeal. 

Campbell  began  in  a  matter-of-fact,  positive  tone. 
"She's  altogether  too  healthy  to  think  of  suicide;  rest 
easy  on  that  score.  You're  weak  enough  emotionally  to 
do  such  a  thing,  but  not  she.  Besides,  why  should  she? 
I  can't  imagine  that  any  act  of  yours  could  very  deeply 
offend  anybody,  even  your  wife.  However — "  He  stud 
ied  briefly.  "Have  you  been  to  see  Miss  Demorest?" 

"Sure!    Ador^e  hasn't  seen  her." 

"Possibly!"  Pope  eyed  his  caller  speculatively.  "So 
you  decided  to  jimmy  her  into  society,  eh!  Who  was  at 

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the  party?  Oh,  Lord!"  he  exclaimed,  as  Bob  muttered 
over  the  list  of  names.  "How  did  she  compare  with 
those  sacred  cows?" 

"Oh,  great!  The  men  went  crazy  over  her — I  knew 
they  would." 

"But  how  did  the  women  treat  her?" 

"Why,  all  right.    I  didn't  notice  anything." 

"What?  No,  of  course  you  didn't.  You  were  probably 
too  drunk  to  notice  much."  Bob  flushed.  "You  intro 
duced  her  to  the  fastest  people  in  New  York,  then  left 
her  entirely  to  her  own  resources  while  you  went  away 
and  made  an  ass  of  yourself.  Well,  something  must  have 
happened  to  alarm  her,  and,  since  you  were  too  maudlin 
to  be  of  any  assistance,  she  evidently  took  the  bit  in  her 
teeth.  I  can't  blame  her.  For  Heaven's  sake,  why  did 
you  set  her  in  with  that  crowd?  If  you  wanted  to  take 
her  slumming,  why  didn't  you  hire  a  guide  and  go  into 
the  red-light  district?" 

Bob  defended  himself  listlessly.  "That's  the  only 
crowd  I  know;  it's  the  only  set  that's  open  to  a  Pittsburg 
furnace-man's  son.  Those  people  aren't  so  bad;  I  guess 
they're  no  worse  than  the  rest.  If  a  person  goes  looking 
for  nastiness  he  can  find  it  nearly  anywhere.  I  never 
did — and  I  never  saw  anything  very  scandalous  around 
that  bunch." 

"One's  observations  are  never  very  keen  when  they're 
made  through  the  bottom  of  a  glass,"  observed  Pope. 

Bob  exploded  irritably.  "All  right,  Lieutenant!  Play 
'Jerusalem'  on  the  cornet  while  I  pass  the  tambourine. 
Damn  the  post-mortems !  I  want  my  wife,  not  a  '  Balling- 
ton  Booth'  on  the  terrors  of  intemperance.  I've  got  to 
have  her,  too.  I— can't  last  this  way.  She's  the  only 
person  who  can  straighten  me  up.  ...  I  was  doing  fine. 
Had  a  job  .  .  .  I'll  go  straight  to  hell  again  if  I  don't 
find  her."  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  man's  sincerity: 
his  mental  and  his  physical  condition  were  obvious. 

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Pope  did  his  be.st  to  repair  the  wreckage  in  some  degree, 
and,  having  quieted  the  sufferer,  he  set  out  for  Miss  Dem- 
orest's  home. 

Adoree,  clad  in  a  slightly  soiled  negligee,  answered  his 
ring,  then,  recognizing  him,  blocked  the  door  hastily, 
exposing  a  face  overcast  with  defiance  and  contempt. 

"Aha!"  she  exclaimed.  "Aha!"  and  Pope's  sensitive 
ego  recoiled  before  the  fierce  challenge  of  her  tone.  Phys 
ically  the  caller  stood  his  ground,  but  inwardly  he  re 
treated  in  disorder.  Adore*e  never  failed  to  affect  him 
uncomfortably;  for  he  was  conscious  of  having  wronged 
her,  and  he  could  in  no  way  reconcile  her  public  reputation 
with  his  personal  impressions  of  her.  His  inability  to 
keep  her  notorious  character  constantly  in  mind  made 
him  angry  with  himself;  and,  further,  she  offended  him 
by  assuming  bewilderingly  different  aspects  every  time 
they  met.  Invariably  she  greeted  him  with  contumely; 
invariably  he  arose  to  the  challenge  and  overcame  her 
attack;  invariably  she  fought  him  on  every  subject. 
And  yet  all  the  time  he  vaguely  suspected  that  they  were 
really  in  complete  accord  and  growing  to  like  each  other. 

"I've  come  to  see  Lorelei,"  he  explained,  affably. 

"Oh,  you're  looking  for  scandal,  eh?"  breathed  Miss 
Demorest.  "Well,  you  won't  get  it,  body-snatcher!" 

Pope  bowed  gravely.  "You  overwhelm  me  with  your 
courtesy,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  represent  the  press  to-day. 
I'm  here  as  a  friend.  Bob's  nearly  dead." 

"Serves  him  right.  I  suppose  you've  left  another 
reporter  to  take  down  his  dying  words  for  the  evening 
paper." 

"Don't  be  silly.     I  want  to  see — " 

"She's  not  here." 

"Then  I'd  like  to  talk  with  you."  The  door  opened 
slightly,  and  Pope  smiled,  whereupon  the  opening  nar 
rowed.  "No.  You  can't  come  in.  I've  just  cleaned 
house." 

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In  desperation  the  man  exclaimed:  "I  won't  sit  down, 
but  I  must  talk  to  you.  Really,  I  must,  about — ducks, 
if  nothing  else." 

' '  Ducks !' '    Adoree's  expression  altered. 

"Let's  be  sensible.  I  want  you  to  like  me."  Pope 
tried  to  appear  amiable,  but  the  effort  resulted  in  a  painful 
smirk. 

"Huh!" 

"We  like  the  same  things — let's  be  friends.  You 
needn't  tell  me  anything  about  Lorelei,  but  I  do  want 
your  advice  about  Bob." 

"I  suppose  there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  come 
in.  You'll  probably  wriggle  in  somehow,  even  if  you  have 
to  steal  a  key.  If  you  don't  know  the  truth  you'll  prob 
ably  make  up  something  about  Lorelei,  as  you  did  about 
me — Buzzard!"  Pope  began  to  perspire,  as  he  always  did 
when  deeply  embarrassed.  But  the  door  swung  wide,  and 
he  entered  with  a  strained,  unnatural  smile  upon  his  face. 

"You  see  I'm  not  concealing  her  anywhere,"  Miss 
Demorest  challenged. 

"Of  course  not.  We  never  suspected  you,  but  we're 
afraid  something  has  happened  to  her." 

' '  Something  has. ' ' 

"What?" 

Adoree  tossed  her  head.     "You're  paid  to  find  out." 

"See  here,  I'm  not  always  a  newspaper  man.  Try  and 
forget  that  side  of  me  for  once.  Bob  will  drink  himself 
to  death,  or  do  something  equally  foolish,  if  Lorelei  doesn't 
come  back.  He's  repentant.  He's  in  a  terrible  condi 
tion.  I  really  believe  she  can  straighten  him  out  if  she'll 
have  patience,  and  you  know  he's  too  good  a  man  to 
lose.  He  thinks  she  left  him  because  he  got  drunk,  but 
I'm  sure  there  must  have  been  some  other  reason." 

"I  should  say  there  was!  You  want  scandal?  I'll 
give  you  some."  Adoree's  eyes  were  flashing  now.  "If 
he's  going  to  drown  himself  he  ought  to  realize  what  he 

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did  and  think  it  over  when  he  comes  up  for  the  third 
time.  Have  you  any  idea  what  that  girl  went  through 
out  there  on  Long  Island?  Listen."  She  plumped  her 
self  down  beside  Pope  and  began  to  talk  swiftly  with  an 
intensity  of  indignation  that  made  her  forgetful  of  her 
dishabille.  She  was  animated ;  she  had  an  expressive, 
impulsive  manner  of  using  her  hands  when  interested, 
and  now  she  gesticulated  violently.  She  also  squirmed, 
bounced,  hitched,  flounced;  she  seized  Pope's  arm,  she 
emphasized  her  points  from  time  to  time  by  a  shake  or 
by  a  dig  of  her  white  fingers.  When  she  had  finished  her 
story  her  shocked  blue  eyes  interrogated  his,  and  the 
critic  roused  himself  with  an  effort.  He  found  that  he 
was  tightly  holding  the  fingers  of  her  right  hand,  but 
dropped  them  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"You  say  she's  staying  here  with  you?" 

"I  didn't  say  so,  but  she  is." 

"Doesn't  she  care  for  Bob  any  more?" 

"Y-yes!  At  first  she  was  furious,  but  we've  talked  a 
good  deal,  and  I  think  she  does  care — away  down  under 
neath.  She  may  not  know  it  herself,  but  she  does,  espe 
cially  now  that — " 

"What?"  asked  Pope,  as  Adoree  hesitated  and  flushed. 

"Nothing!  But  she  won't  go  back.  She  declares  she 
won't  spoil  her  whole  life  for  a  drunken  wretch  like  him, 
and  she's  quite  right,  of  course." 

"She's  quite  wrong,  of  course!  Bob's  done  pretty  well 
for  a  man  of  his  type,  and  he's  had  a  hard  lesson.  After 
all,  it's  a  woman's  part  to  sacrifice — she's  not  happy 
unless  she  gives  more  than  she  gets.  You  and  I  must 
bring  them  together." 

"How?" 

Pope  had  been  thinking  while  he  talked,  and  now  he 
sketched  his  plan  eagerly. 

"You  are  perfectly  detestable  and  horrid,"  she  told 
him.  when  he  had  finished,  "but  I  suppose  there  must 

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be  some  good  in  you.  Don't  think  you  argued  me 
into  this,  however,  for  you  didn't.  There's  an  altogether 
different  reason  why  I  want  those  two  to  make  up." 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm  again,  and  when  Pope 
caught  her  meaning  his  sallow  cheeks  were  glowing  and 
his  eyes  as  bright  as  hers. 

"Gee!  You're  all  right!"  said  he.  "Til  call  for  you 
after  the  show." 

AdoreVs  smile  was  uncertain  as  she  demurred.  "Per 
haps  you'd  better  meet  me  here.  What  will  people  say?" 
But  Pope  was  insistent. 

We  are  accustomed  to  resent  the  efforts  of  our  friends 
to  arrange  our  affairs  for  us,  and  we  pray  for  deliverance 
from  their  mistakes,  yet  without  their  assistance  we  would 
often  make  miserable  failures  of  our  lives.  So  it  was  in 
the  case  of  Bob  and  Lorelei. 

Burning  with  shame  and  resentment,  she  had  been 
strong  in  her  determination  to  end  their  marriage,  and 
this  frame  of  mind  had  continued  for  some  time;  but 
as  her  anger  cooled  she  dimly  understood  that  a  change 
had  come  over  her  and  that  she  no  longer  looked  upon 
the  world  with  the  eyes  of  a  girl.  Simultaneously  there 
came  another  discovery  which  completely  upset  all  her 
calculations  and  to  which  she  had  not  fully  adjusted 
herself  even  up  to  the  time  of  the  critic's  visit  to  Adoree. 
One  great  mystery  she  had  solved;  another,  the  deepest 
mystery  of  a  woman's  life,  had  begun  to  unfold,  and  as 
yet  she  could  scarcely  give  it  credence. 

She  was  surprised  when  Adoree  brought  Campbell 
Pope  home  with  her  that  night,  and  she  was  somewhat 
diverted  by  the  complete  change  in  their  mutual  attitude. 
Now  that  the  first  clash  was  over,  now  that  they  had 
expressed  their  dislike  and  disapproval  of  each  other, 
they  no  longer  quarreled.  Pope  was  frankly  admiring, 
and  Adore*e  could  not  conceal  her  awe  at  Campbell's 

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literary  and  musical  ability.  She  explained  to  Lorelei: 
"I  asked  him  in  for  the  sake  of  the  piano.  I  knew  you 
were  blue,  and  there's  nothing  so  cheering  as  music." 

But  when  Pope  finally  got  around  to  play  the  result 
was  not  altogether  happy.  Adore'e,  to  be  sure,  seemed 
delighted,  but  Lorelei  felt  herself  gripped  by  a  greater 
loneliness  than  usual.  Pope's  music  was  far  from  lively, 
and  he  had  cunningly  chosen  the  hour  when  it  exerts  its 
greatest  emotional  appeal.  He  was  artist  enough,  more 
over,  to  work  his  effects  with  certainty. 

Lorelei  sought  relief  at  length  in  the  seclusion  of 
Adoree's  rear  room,  and  there  in  the  midst  of  a  "crying 
spell"  Bob  found  her. 

Her  first  quick  resentment  at  the  deception  practised 
upon  her  melted  at  sight  of  him,  for  he  had  suffered,  and 
he  was  evidently  suffering  now.  He  was  not  the  Bob  she 
had  known,  but  chastened,  repentant,  speechless  with  a 
tremulous  delight  at  seeing  her  again.  In  the  next  room 
Campbell  played  on,  smoothing  the  way  for  a  reconcilia 
tion. 

Lorelei  found  herself  in  her  husband's  arms,  listening 
dazedly  to  his  passionate  protestations  and  his  earnest 
self-denunciation.  Bob  had  received  the  fright  of  his  life, 
his  lesson  had  been  seared  into  him,  and  he  lost  no  time 
in  telling  his  wife  about  it. 

At  last  Lorelei  laid  her  fingers  upon  his  lips,  her  eyes 
misty  and  luminous  with  the  light  of  a  new  and  wondrous 
certainty. 

"Wait!  Let  me  speak,"  she  said.  "I've  done  a  life 
time  of  thinking  in  these  few  days.  I'm  not  sorry  that 
I  left  you,  for  it  has  enabled  me  to  see  clearly.  But  I'll 
never  leave  you  again,  Bob,  no  matter  what  you  do; 
I  can't—" 

He  crushed  her  to  him,  then  held  her  away  at  the 
hint  of  something  unsaid.  "You  mean  you've  begun  to 
love  me?"  he  inquired,  gladly. 

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"Perhaps.  I  don't  know.  Something  has  changed — 
tremendously."  Under  his  bewildered  gaze  the  blood  rose, 
warming  her  cheeks;  her  eyes  swam,  but  not  with  tears; 
her  bosom  was  tremulous  with  the  knowledge  that  clam 
ored  for  freedom,  and  yet  refused  to  come. 

"Don't  you  understand,  stupid?"  she  said,  seeing  him 
still  mystified.  She  hid  her  face,  then  whispered  in  his 
ear,  whereupon  he  fell  to  trembling,  and  the  fervor  of 
his  embrace  relaxed.  He  held  her  gently,  tenderly,  as  if 
he  suddenly  found  her  to  be  a  fragile  thing. 

"My  dear! — my — dear!"  And  then  he  too  hid  his 
face  as  if  blinded  by  a  pitiless  light.  When  he  raised  it 
tears  glistened  on  his  lashes  and  a  happiness  that  was  like 
pain  pierced  him.  "Oh!  If  I  had  only  known — "  he 
choked.  "Kid,  what  a  fool  I've  been,  never  to  think 
that  this  might  come!  I — can't  believe  it." 

"It's  true,"  she  smiled,  and  her  cheeks  were  still  dyed 
with  that  virginal  flush.  "Perhaps  that's  why  I've 
changed  toward  you — something  has  happened,  Bob,  and 
you  mustn't  leave  me  now.  I  couldn't  bear  to  do  without 
you." 

"You  may  forgive  me,"  he  cried,  "but  I'll  never  for 
give  myself.  To  think  that  I  should  learn  of  this  right 
now — after  what  I  did.  Well,  I'm  through  making  new 
promises;  I'm  going  to  keep  some  of  the  old  ones." 

"I  think  it's  about  time  we  both  came  to  earth." 

"No  need  for  you — you're  the  sensible  one.  If  I  can't 
straighten  up  on  my  own  account  and  on  yours,  surely 
I  can  and  will  for — this." 

An  hour  later  Adoree  tiptoed  back  to  the  piano  after 
a  surreptitious  peek  into  the  back  room,  whence  nothing 
but  the  faintest  murmurs  issued.  Her  face  was  radiant. 

"You've  played  some  high-priced  divorce  lawyer  out 
of  a  good  case,  Mr.  Cricket,"  she  beamed  on  Campbell. 
"She's  in  his  lap."  Pope's  rippling  fingers  paused,  his 
hands  dropped,  and  he  sighed. 

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"I  could  have  set  them  quarreling  just  as  well,  but  the 
r61e  of  cupid  suits  me  to-night."  His  shoulders  drooped 
wearily;  the  feverish  brightness  of  his  eyes  and  the  pallor 
of  his  thin  face  indicated  that  he  had  indeed  spent  all 
his  nervous  force. 

"Cupid  in  a  sweater!"  Adore"e  exclaimed.  "Well,  I 
believe  it,  for  your  playing  made  me  positively  mushy. 
I've  been  hugging  a  sofa-cushion  and  dreaming  of  heroes 
for  ever  so  long.  Why,  at  this  moment  I'd  marry  the 
janitor." 

With  the  eager  shyness  of  a  boy  he  inquired:  "Do 
you  really  like  to  hear  me  play?  Can  I  come  and  play 
for  you  again?" 

"Not  without  a  chaperon,"  she  told  him,  positively; 
"wool  tickles  my  cheek." 

Pope  rose  hastily  and  in  some  embarrassment.  He 
could  write  about  love  with  a  cynic's  pen,  but  he  could 
not  bear  to  talk  about  it  even  in  a  joking  way.  He  eyed 
the  speaker  with  the  frightened  fascination  of  a  charmed 
rabbit,  until  she  laughed  in  mischievous  enjoyment  of 
his  perturbation. 

"Oh,  never  fear!  It  will  take  more  than  music  to  make 
me  forget  what  you  are.  Say!"  She  yawned,  doubled 
up  her  little  fists,  and  stretched.  "Won't  you  play  some 
thing  to  make  those  lovers  go  home,  so  I  can  go  to 
bed?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "Not  until  we  go  to  the  nearest 
cafe  and  have  a  bite  to  eat." 

"There  are  no  cafe's  open  at  this  hour." 

In  spite  of  her  protestations  that  she  was  not  hungry  he 
bore  her  away  with  him,  bareheaded  as  she  was,  and  in 
the  next  block  they  found  an  unsuspected  little  place 
called  the  "Chauffeurs'  Lunch,"  where  a  man  was  busy 
making  sandwiches  of  the  whitest  bread  and  the  most 
delicious-smelling  Hamburger  for  a  hungry  cabby  with 
a  battered  hat.  And  there  they  each  ate  a  bowl  of  crackers 

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and  milk  with  a  baked  apple,  using  the  arms  of  their 
chairs  for  tables.  Pope's  bill  was  forty  cents,  and,  strangely 
enough,  not  even  when  he  paid  it  did  he  remember  that 
this  was  the  woman  for  whose  company  at  supper  other 
men  paid  five  hundred  dollars. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BOB'S  work  as  a  salesman  continued  to  be  so  effective 
that  Kurtz  finally  offered  him  a  salaried  position. 
But  instead  of  accepting,  Bob  made  a  counter-proposition 
that  caused  the  little  man  to  gasp.  Briefly,  it  was  to 
extend  the  scope  of  the  present  business  by  laying  in  a 
stock  of  extravagant,  high-priced  shirt  and  necktie  mate 
rials,  with  Bob  as  partner  in  the  new  venture.  Kurtz 
protested  that  he  was  not  a  haberdasher,  but  he  was 
constrained  to  admit  that  Bob  had  the  right  idea  of  smart 
business,  and  after  some  discussion  accepted  his  employee's 
nonchalant  offer  to  go  halves  on  the  new  venture  and 
share  in  its  profits.  The  fact  that  Bob  had  no  money 
with  which  to  carry  through  his  part  of  the  deal  troubled 
that  youth  not  in  the  least — Kurtz's  credit  was  ample. 
Bob's  theory  of  securing  the  Fifth  Avenue  trade  was  to 
double  existing  prices,  and  if  this  did  not  bring  the  busi 
ness,  to  double  them  a  second  time;  and  this  theory  was 
correct,  as  he  demonstrated  when  the  new  department 
was  organized. 

But  despite  the  excellent  income  he  now  began  to  make 
there  was  never  anything  left  in  the  Wharton  bank- 
account,  for  Bob  moved  his  wife  to  a  more  pretentious 
apartment  on  Riverside  Drive  and  managed  to  increase 
their  expenses  so  as  to  balance  his  earnings  very  nicely. 
It  was  quite  a  feat  to  adjust  a  fixed  outlay  to  a  varying 
income  so  that  nothing  whatever  should  remain,  and  he 
considered  it  a  strong  proof  of  his  capacities  that  he  suc 
ceeded. 

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By  Christmas  the  haberdashery  venture  had  shown 
such  a  profit  that  he  began  to  pile  up  a  small  bank-account 
in  spite  of  himself;  so  he  bought  an  automobile,  which 
served  to  eat  up  any  monthly  profits  and  guarantee  a 
deficit  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances.  Being 
thus  relieved  of  financial  uncertainty,  he  laid  plans  to 
wrest  from  Kurtz  a  full  partnership  in  the  tailoring  busi 
ness  itself. 

The  Whartons'  new  home  was  charming,  and  Bob  pro 
vided  his  wife  with  every  luxury.  Lorelei  did  not  regret 
that  she  was  prevented  from  going  out  as  much  as  for 
merly — her  experience  at  Fennellcourt  had  cured  her  of 
any  desire  to  get  into  her  husband's  social  set — and 
unconsciously  she  and  Bob  began  to  develop  a  real  home 
life. 

As  time  went  on  and  evidences  of  prosperity  showed 
themselves  Lorelei's  family  forgot  some  of  their  dislike 
of  Bob  and  became  more  companionable.  Strangely 
enough,  too,  their  cost  of  living  increased  in  proportion 
to  their  friendliness;  but  Bob  never  questioned  any 
amount  they  asked  him  for,  and  he  swelled  their  allow 
ance  with  characteristic  prodigality. 

Lorelei  was  proud  of  him,  as  she  had  reason  to  be,  but 
she  had  occasion  for  sorrow  as  well.  His  generosity  was 
really  big,  his  pagan  joyousness  banished  shadows,  but 
he  was  intensely  human  in  his  failings,  and  in  spite  of 
his  determination  to  stop  drinking,  in  spite  of  all  his 
earnest  promises,  the  old  appetite  periodically  betrayed 
him.  For  a  month,  for  two  months  at  a  time,  he  would 
manfully  fight  his  desires,  then  without  excuse,  without 
cause,  just  when  he  was  boasting  loudest  of  his  victory, 
he  would  fall.  And  yet  drinking  did  not  brutalize  him 
as  it  does  most  men;  he  never  became  disgusting;  liquor 
intoxicated  him,  but  less  in  body  than  in  spirit.  His 
repentance  followed  promptly,  his  chagrin  was  intense, 
and  his  fear  of  Lorelei  almost  ludicrous.  But  the  girl 

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had  acquired  a  wider  charity,  a  gentler  patience;  she 
grieved,  she  tried  to  help  him,  and  his  frailty  endeared 
him  to  her.  Love  had  been  slow  to  awaken ;  in  fact,  she 
had  not  been  definitely  aware  of  its  birth;  but  suddenly 
she  had  found  it  flowering  in  her  soul,  and  now  it  flourished 
the  more  as  that  other  interest  intensified  and  began  to 
dominate  her. 

Bob  responded  to  all  her  efforts  save  one:  she  could 
not  make  him  serious.  On  the  whole,  however,  they 
were  more  happy  than  they  had  ever  been. 

One  day,  during  the  slack  holiday  season,  Hannibal 
Wharton  appeared  at  the  Kurtz  establishment.  He 
appraised  the  elaborate  surroundings  with  a  hostile  eye 
and  stared  at  his  son  impassively. 

"So!  You're  a  seamstress  now,"  he  began,  and  Bob 
grinned.  "Merkle  told  me  you  repaid  his  loan  and  had 
an  automobile." 

"That's  true." 

"Second-hand  car?" 

"No." 

"How  much  do  you  owe?" 

"Nothing,  except  for  stock." 

' '  Stock !    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"Kurtz  and  I  are  partners  in  one  end  of  this  business."' 

"I'll  be  damned!"  breathed  Mr.  Wharton.  Then  he 
inquired,  curiously,  "Do  you  like  this  work?" 

"It's  not  what  I  prefer,  still  there  is  a  margin  of  profit." 

"Huh!  I  should  think  so,  at  ninety  dollars  a  suit. 
Well,  this  town  is  full  of  fools." 

Bob  agreed.  "But  we  dress  'em  better  than  they  do- 
in  Pittsburg." 

After  a  moment's  consideration  Hannibal  said  slowly: 
"  Mother's  at  the  Waldorf;  she  wants  to  see  you.  You've 
just  about  broken  her  heart,  Bob." 

"We're  not  going  out  much,  but  perhaps  we  could  call, 
on  her — " 

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" ' We ' !    I  said  she  wants  to  see  you" 

"And  not  my  wife?" 

"Certainly  not.  Neither  do  I.  You  don't  seem  to 
understand — " 

Bob  answered  smoothly:  "Certainly  I  understand; 
you  think  ninety  dollars  is  too  much  for  a  suit.  Perhaps 
I  can  show  you  something  in  scarfs  of  an  exclusive  design?" 

"Don't  be  funny!"  growled  his  father. 

"Really,  dad,  you'd  better  go.  That  suit  of  yours  is 
a  sight.  Somebody  may  think  we  made  it  for  you." 

Mr.  Wharton  remained  silent  for  a  moment.  "The 
situation  is  impossible,  and  anybody  but  you  would  see 
it.  We  can't  accept  that  woman,  and  we  won't.  She's 
notorious." 

"No  more  so  than  I — or  you,  for  that  matter." 

"She's  a  grafter.    She'd  quit  you  if  I  paid  her  enough." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Her  mother  has  been  to  see  me  half  a  dozen  times. 
I've  offered  to  pay  her  anything  within  reason,  but  they're 
holding  out  for  something  big.  You  come  back,  Bob. 
Let  her  go  back  to  her  own  people." 

"And  what's  to  become  of  the  other  one?"  Bob  was 
smiling  faintly. 

"The  other  one?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  there  will  be  three  in  the  family  soon,  dad; 
you're  going  to  be  a  grandfather." 

The  effect  of  this  announcement  was  unexpected.  Han 
nibal  Wharton  was  momentarily  stricken  dumb,  for  once 
he  was  utterly  at  a  loss.  Then,  instead  of  raising  his 
voice,  he  spoke  with  a  sharp,  stuttering  incisiveness: 

"So  that's  her  game,  eh?  I  suppose  she  thinks  she'll 
breed  her  way  into  the  family.  Well,  she  won't.  It 
won't  work.  I  was  willing  to  compromise  before — so 
long  as  there  was  no  tangible  bond  between  that  family 
and  mine — but  they've  got  their  blood  mixed  with  mine; 
they've  got  a  fingerhold  in  spite  of  hell,  and  I  suppose 

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they'll  hold  on.  But  I  won't  acknowledge  a  grandchild 
with  scum  like  that  in  its  veins.  Good  God !  Now  listen — 
you."  Wharton's  jaw  was  outthrust,  his  gaze  hard  and 
unwavering.  "No  child  tainted  with  that  blood  will 
share  in  one  penny  of  my  money,  now  or  at  any  other 
time.  Understand?" 

"Perfectly."  Bob's  color  had  receded,  but  in  no  other 
way  did  he  show  his  struggle  for  self-mastery.  "My  wife 
isn't  having  a  baby  to  spite  you,  and  if  it  ever  needs  a 
grandfather  we'll  adopt  one." 

"They've  pulled  you  down  into  the  mud;  now  they've 
tied  you  there.  Heredity's  stronger  than  you  or  I ;  watch 
your  child  grow  up,  and  watch  its  mother's  blood  tell. 
Then  remember  that  I  tried  to  free  you  before  it  was  too 
late.  Well,  I'm  through.  This  settles  me.  Good-by, 
and  God  help  you  with  that  rotten  gang."  Hannibal 
Wharton  turned  and  strode  out  of  the  room  shaking  his 
head  and  mumbling. 

Jimmy  Knight  had  fallen  upon  evil  times.  A  combi 
nation  of  circumstances  had  seriously  affected  his  mode 
of  making  a  living,  and  that  of  his  friends.  To  outward 
appearances  the  frequenters  of  Tony  the  Barber's  place 
were  as  thrifty  as  usual,  but  in  the  pinochle-room  at  the 
rear  there  was  gloom.  Reason  for  these  hard  times  lay 
in  an  upheaval  of  public  sentiment  that  had  galvanized 
the  Police  Department  into  one  of  its  periodic  spasms  of 
activity,  and  the  cause  ran  back  to  a  sordid  quarrel  be 
tween  two  factions  of  the  Tenderloin.  At  about  the  time 
when  Jimmy  came  to  New  York  the  contention  had 
become  too  bitter  for  the  underworld  to  hold,  and  echoes 
of  it  had  begun  to  leak  out;  later  it  culminated  in  the 
murder  of  the  leader  of  one  clique.  Murders,  it  is  true, 
are  not  uncommon  in  New  York,  but  this  one  was  staged 
in  the  glare  of  Broadway,  and  with  a  bold  defiance  of  the 
law  that  aroused  popular  indignation.  There  followed  a 

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chain  of  fortuitous  happenings  that  issued  in  the  capture  of 
the  murderers,  in  a  wide-spread  exposure  of  social  condi 
tions,  and  in  a  great  outburst  of  public  indignation  against 
a  police  system  that  allowed  such  abuses  to  exist. 

Of  course  there  came  a  loud  protest  from  the  guardians 
of  the  law,  a  frantic  waving  of  spotless  banners,  and  a 
prating  of  virtue;  but  the  popular  will  has  a  way  of  ob 
taining  its  desires  regardless  of  red  tape,  trickery,  or  poli 
tics,  and  in  this  case  it  demanded  a  reorganization  of  the 
department  and  got  it. 

Discipline  suddenly  strengthened,  and  as  a  result  gam 
bling  almost  ceased,  wire-tapping  languished,  organized 
blackmail  was  conducted  under  cover:  only  crime  in  its 
crudest  forms  continued  as  usual;  and  it  followed  there 
fore  that  Jimmy  Knight  was  not  prosperous.  Had  it  not 
been  for  his  share  in  Bob's  generosity  he  would  have  been 
forced  to  the  distressing  necessity  of  asking  for  employ 
ment — a  thing  to  curdle  his  blood!  It  was  characteristic 
of  young  Knight  that  he  did  not  scruple  to  accept  charity 
from  the  man  he  hated,  although  he  cherished  the  memory 
of  that  public  beating  at  Bob's  hands  and  the  humiliation 
of  it  gnawed  him  like  a  cancer. 

More  than  once  lately  Jim  had  been  tempted  to  turn 
his  knowledge  of  the  Hammon  "suicide"  into  cash,  but 
he  could  think  of  no  safe  and  certain  means  of  doing  so 
until  one  day  Max  Melcher  dropped  a  bit  of  intelligence 
that  promised  to  open  a  way. 

"Who  do  you  suppose  I  just  heard  from?"  Max  in 
quired,  one  raw  afternoon  in  March,  when  he  had  found 
Jim  in  their  usual  haunt.  "Lilas  Lynn." 

Jim  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  surprise  and  inter 
est.  "Where  is  she?" 

"She  wrote  from  Liverpool,  asking  for  money.  Can 
you  beat  that?" 

"  Money?  Why,  she  had  a  satchel  full.  What's  become 
of  it?" 

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Melcher  shrugged.  "She's  taken  the  jumps — English 
Derby,  Paris  race-meet,  Monte  Carlo — " 

"Huh!  She  fished  all  the  sucker -holes  along  the  route, 
eh?  Of  course  you  cabled  her  a  few  C's?"  Jim  snickered. 

"Do  I  look  as  if  I  had?  She's  sick,  got  a  cough,  and 
says  it's  the  'con.'  She  wants  to  come  home." 

Jim  started.  "Say,  that's  no  hospital  bark  of  hers; 
it's  nothing  but  the  coke."  After  a  moment  he  asked 
casually,  "Where's  she  stopping?" 

"Liverpool." 

"What's  her  address?  I'll  drop  her  a  line  to  cheer  her 
up." 

"She  wrote  from  the  Hotel — "  Melcher  checked  him 
self  and  shot  a  questioning  look  at  his  friend.  "Why 
this  sudden  charity?" 

Jim's  gaze  was  bland,  his  tone  one  of  wounded  inno 
cence.  "Can't  a  guy  offer  to  cheer — " 

"You're  not  in  the  business  of  cheering  sick  dames," 
Melcher  said,  sharply.  Then,  after  a  pause,  "You  never 
came  through  with  me,  Jim.  There  was  something  phony 
about  Lilas's  get-away.  She  left  too  suddenly  after  the 
Hammon  suicide,  and  she's  been  under  cover  now  for 
eight  months.  I  never  got  it  quite  right.  What  're  you 
holding  out?" 

Jim  sparred  adroitly,  but  without  effect. 

"Oh!  You've  got  an  ace  buried  somewhere,"  Melcher 
said.  "You're  a  shifty  guy.  Of  course  this  is  a  friendly 
game  we're  playing,  but,  just  the  same,  I  never  bettered 
a  poker  hand  by  leaving  the  room.  I  don't  even  turn 
my  head  to  spit  when  I'm  sitting  in  with  a  fellow  like 
you.  Lilas  has  got  something  on  her  mind,  and  I  believe 
I'll  cable  her  the  price  of  a  ticket." 

That  was  enough  for  Jim.  He  began  to  weaken,  and 
at  last  made  a  clean  breast  of  all  the  circumstances  sur 
rounding  Jarvis  Hammon's  death  rather  than  risk  the 
result  of  a  meeting  between  Max  and  Lilas.  When  he 

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had  finished  his  story  Melcher  was  leaning  forward,  his 
pink,  smooth-shaven,  agreeable  face  gravely  intent. 

"So  that  was  the  way  of  it.  Wharton  and  Merkle — 
and  a  four-wheeler!  By  God!  That  was  nervy — on 
Merkle's  part,  especially.  He  took  a  chance.  And  Lilas 
shot  the  old  man,  eh?" 

"Nobody  saw  her  do  it,"  Jim  explained.  "Lorelei  was 
in  the  dining-room  at  the  time  it  happened,  and  Hammon 
swore  he  did  it  himself.  He  stood  on  that  to  the  last." 

"  I  didn't  know  they  grew  men  the  size  of  that  fellow," 
Max  mused.  "After  all,  it's  the  suckers  that  die  game. 
And  you  were  going  to  put  this  over  single-handed,  eh? — 
you  and  Lilas,  perhaps!  My  boy,  you  must  learn  to 
shoot  before  you  go  hunting.  Why,  there's  a  hundred 
thousand  quick  money  in  this." 

"If  Wharton  had  done  the  shooting  or  Merkle — yes." 

"What's  the  difference  who  did  it?  Why,  it's  a  cinch. 
Get  this!  Lilas  comes  home  broke.  She's  sick,  and  sees 
the  undertaker  flirting  with  her,  so  she  decides  to  spill 
the  whole  story  and  take  the  consequences — understand? 
It's  conscience."  Mr.  Melcher  laughed  lightly  at  his 
little  joke.  "A  sick  woman's  conscience  is  an  expensive 
thing;  it  takes  money  to  square  it.  Merkle  won't  stand, 
and  Wharton  can't,  on  account  of  his  wife — your  sister. 
He'll  tap  his  old  man,  and  Hannibal  will  loosen  for  the 
family  honor.  After  they're  dry  we've  got  the  Hammon 
widow  to  work  on." 

"It  '11  take  money  to  do  this — protection,  too." 

"Well,  I've  got  both." 

"I  suppose  we'll  split  three  ways." 

Max  pursed  his  lips  thoughtfully.  "N-no;  you  and 
Lilas  are  broke.  I've  got  the  money  and  the  police.  I'll 
take  half." 

Jim's  acquiescence  to  these  terms  came  hard,  and  he 
cursed  himself  as  a  fool  for  putting  himself  at  the  mercy 
of  this  man.  He  was  still  raging  inwardly  when  Melcher 

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left  to  send  a  cablegram;  but  there  was  ample  leisure  for 
reflection  during  the  week  that  followed,  and,  being  pos 
sessed  of  some  ingenuity,  Jim  had  formulated  a  scheme 
before  Lilas  Lynn's  arrival. 

In  due  time  she  came,  and  Melcher  saw  her  established 
at  a  modest  hotel  before  making  known  in  detail  his 
intentions. 

Lilas  was  little  more  than  a  wreck  of  what  she  had  been. 
It  seemed  impossible  that  eight  short  months  could  have 
worked  so  great  a  change  in  one  of  her  youth  and  strength. 
Ill  she  undoubtedly  was.  She  was  thin,  her  nerves  had 
yielded  to  the  ravages  of  the  drug,  and  a  queer,  unhealthy 
pallor  had  blanched  her  skin;  her  eyes  were  big  and 
feverish  and  restless.  Only  at  such  times  as  she  was 
without  cocaine  did  her  mind  suffer;  when  she  had  it 
she  was  unnaturally  alert.  Having  lately  felt  the  harsh 
grip  of  poverty,  she  was  obsessed  now  by  the  need  of 
money,  and  offered  no  objections  to  Max's  schemes. 
Rather,  she  welcomed  them  fiercely.  She  and  Max  and 
Jim  mapped  out  a  course  of  action  together;  but  a  day  or 
two  later,  when  Jim  thought  the  moment  propitious,  he 
secured  her  ear  alone  and  gave  voice  to  his  resentment 
against  Max. 

As  soon  as  Lilas  understood  his  drift  she  met  him  more 
than  half-way.  She  was  vulture-like  in  her  greed,  and 
with  a  full  understanding  between  them  the  two  con 
spired  to  use  Max  only  so  long  and  so  far  as  suited  their 
purposes. 

In  spite  of  Bob  Wharton's  peculiarly  mutable  tempera 
ment  he  was  not  remiss  in  his  duties  toward  Lorelei  during 
the  period  that  led  up  to  the  birth  of  their  child.  Utterly 
careless  and  improvident  in  his  own  affairs,  he  was  natu 
rally  considerate  of  others  and  possessed  a  surprising 
depth  of  sympathy.  Hence  he  met  the  responsibilities 
of  his  present  situation  with  considerable  credit. 

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One  evening  he  was  concerned  to  find  his  wife  greatly 
agitated,  and  upon  learning  the  cause  his  consternation 
matched  hers.  Lorelei's  eyes  were  big  and  frightened 
as  she  explained:  "Lilas  is  back.  She  was  here  to-day." 

' '  Lilas  ?    Good  Lord !    What  did  she  want  ?" 

"Nothing.  She  just  came  to  see  me.  She's  changed 
dreadfully,  and  talked  about  nothing  except — that  awful 
night.  You  remember?  I'm  nearly  in  hysterics." 

"  Now,  that  won't  do.  You  pass  your  worries  on  to  me. 
Lilas  can't  make  trouble  for  us  without  making  more 
for  herself." 

But  Lorelei  seemed  oppressed  with  a  premonition  of 
trouble.  "I'm  frightened,  Bob,"  she  confessed.  "She 
acted  so — strangely.  Suppose — oh,  suppose  I  should  have 
to  go  to  jail  now  or — to  court — " 

Bob  took  his  wife  in  his  arms  and  did  his  best  to  cure 
her  of  these  sick  fancies;  but  it  was  no  easy  task  to  quiet 
her,  for  a  million  apprehensions  had  sprung  into  life  with 
the  reopening  of  that  old  horror.  At  last  he  reminded 
her  gently: 

"Remember,  dear,  your  thoughts  are  like  branding- 
irons  just  now;  they  leave  their  marks.  We  want  our 
child  to  be  brave  and  confident  and  steadfast,  not  a 
coward — or  something  worse.  This  is  how  cowards  are 
made.  How  can  a  child  inherit  weakness  when  its  mother 
is  without  fear?" 

Profiting  by  this  experience,  Bob  undertook  to  guard 
against  another  visit  from  Lilas.  He  was  really  worried, 
although  he  pretended  to  dismiss  the  matter  as  inconse 
quential,  and  his  fears  flared  into  full  blaze  again  a  few 
days  later,  when  Jimmy  Knight  called  upon  him  and 
announced  cautiously: 

"Say,  you  know  Lilas  is  back.  Well,  she's  gone  off 
her  nut — she's  going  to  give  herself  up." 

"Give  herself  up ?    How ? " 

"She's  going  to  tell  the  truth  about  the  Hammon  affair. 
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She  thinks  she's  dying.  Where  do  we  go  from  here  if 
she  does  that?" 

Bob  could  not  conceal  his  alarm,  which  increased  when 
his  brother-in-law  begged  him  to  do  something  quickly 
to  save  them  all  from  disaster.  "I  wouldn't  come  to 
you,"  Jim  confessed,  candidly,  "if  I  knew  what  to  do; 
for  you  don't  like  me,  and  I'm  not  crazy  about  you.  But 
we've  got  to  stand  together  on  account  of  Lorelei — not  that 
I'd  enjoy  a  call  on  the  district  attorney  at  any  time." 

Agreeing  that  there  was  no  time  to  waste,  the  two 
men  hastened  to  Lilas's  hotel,  only  to  receive  a  greeting 
that  was  far  from  auspicious.  When  they  had  adroitly 
brought  the  conversation  around  to  the  point  at  issue 
Lilas  explained: 

"Yes,  the  doctors  have  ticketed  me.  They've  shown 
me  the  gate."  She  coughed  hollowly  and  laid  her  hand 
on  her  chest.  "Oh,  it's  the  white  bug!  That  closes  the 
show  for  me."  She  appeared  verv  ill,  and  it  did  not  occur 
to  Bob  to  doubt  her. 

Jim  began  briskly:  "Why,  that's  nothing,  Lilas! 
Arizona  is  the  place  for  you." 

"Arizona  is  a  long  jump  from  Broadway." 

"I'll  help  you  if  you  need  help,"  Bob  hastened  to  offer. 

Lilas  flashed  him  a  grateful  glance  from  eyes  that  were 
doubly  large  and  dark  against  her  pallor.  "You're  a 
prince  with  your  money,  but — it's  too  late." 

"Nonsense!" 

"Oh,  they'd  get  me  sooner  or  later.  I  may  as  well 
face  the  music." 

" Do  you  mean  slow  music?  Do  you  mean  the  bugs  will 
get  you?"  Jim  inquired. 

"No.  I  mean  I'd  have  to  take  it  on  the  dodge  if  I 
went,  and  what's  the  use  of  that?  I've  talked  too  much." 
With  a  sudden  flash  of  feeling  she  cried:  "I've  been 
through  hell  for  eight  months,  and  I'm  tired  out.  I  came 
home  broke,  sick,  thinking  of  that  night  when — you 

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know!  I  seem  to  see  his  face  everywhere.  It  bothers  me 
at  night.  I  used  to  dream  of  my  father  and  a  stream  of 
molten  steel.  Well,  the  dreams  are  getting  worse,  only 
now  I  see  Jarvis's  face  in  place  of  my  father's,  and  I  tell 
you  I  can't  stand  it;  I  can't  stand  these  dreams,  and  that 
face  of  his  looking  at  me  all  the  time.  So  I'm  going  to 
give  myself  up,  have  it  over  with,  and  do  my  penalty. 
Maybe  I  can  sleep  then.  If  my  lungs  hold  out,  all  right; 
if  they  don't — well,  I'll  sleep  anyhow.  You  see,  I  can't 
make  a  living,  for  I  can't  go  back  on  the  stage.  Why, 
I  can't  leave  this  hotel — and  take  my  trunks." 

Jimmy  Knight  broke  out  nervously,  "That  penalty 
talk  is  all  right  for  you,  Lilas,  but  think  about  the  rest 
of  us." 

"Yes;  Lorelei,  for  instance,"  Bob  added.  "She  isn't 
strong.  You  mustn't  think  of  doing  this  thing." 

"I  know,"  Miss  Lynn  nodded.     "I'm  sorry,  but — " 

"I'll  furnish  all  the  money  you  want."  She  looked  her 
gratitude  again.  "You  must  buck  up  and  try  to  get 
well." 

For  some  time  the  two  men  jointly  attempted  to  argue 
Lilas  out  of  her  black  despondency,  and  when  they  left 
it  was  with  a  hard-won  promise  that  she  would  do  nothing 
definite  at  once. 

Outside  the  room  Jim  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Whew! 
I  could  feel  the  knot  under  my  ear,  but — glory  to  God, 
it  slipped!  Just  the  same,  I'm  going  to  buy  some  oakum 
and  make  a  false  beard  in  case  she  flops." 

In  this  way  the  trap  was  set  and  baited  so  skilfully 
that  the  victim  was  without  suspicion.  That  evening 
Lilas,  Jim,  and  Max  Melcher  dined  together  in  very  good 
spirits;  and,  strangely  enough,  the  girl  showed  an  excellent 
appetite  for  one  so  troubled  in  soul. 

Wharton  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Not  only  did  he  put 
Lilas  in  funds,  but  he  exerted  his  every  power  of  persuasion 
to  rouse  her  from  her  despondency  and  reawaken  a  healthy 

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desire  for  life.  It  transpired  that  she  had  assumed  some 
outrageous  obligations,  and,  moreover,  had  hired  a  num 
ber  of  expensive  lung  specialists,  for  whom  she  asked  him 
to  settle;  nevertheless  he  met  her  demands  and  was 
encouraged  when  she  began  to  purchase  a  new  wardrobe. 
Although  he  considered  himself  a  spendthrift,  her  reckless 
disregard  of  money  gave  him  a  jolt,  but  he  was  working 
to  gain  time,  and  his  relief  on  Lorelei's  account  deadened 
all  other  feelings. 

Before  long  he  had  advanced  several  thousand  dollars  to 
the  girl,  and  still  her  desire  for  martyrdom  had  not  en 
tirely  vanished.  Realizing  that  the  mere  presence  of 
one  so  temperamentally  hysterical  as  she  was  a  constant 
menace,  he  insisted  upon  her  going  South,  and  in  order 
to  provide  handsomely  for  her  comfort  he  borrowed 
from  his  friends.  He  was  aghast  when  he  finally  reckoned 
up  the  amount  he  had  spent  upon  her. 

There  followed  a  short  interval  of  relief,  during  which 
Lilas  pretended  to  be  making  ready,  then  upon  the  very 
eve  of  her  departure  she  sent  for  him  in  much  haste  and 
awoke  him  rudely  from  his  trance. 

She  began  by  saying  that  his  kindness  and  liberality 
had  aroused  in  her  a  desire  to  live  and  to  begin  anew, 
if  not  for  her  own,  then  for  his  and  Lorelei's  sakes,  but 
that  she  was  in  terrible  trouble.  Her  punishment  had 
sought  her  out  after  all. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Bob  could  make  head  or 
tail  out  of  what  she  told  him,  but  eventually  he  learned 
that  in  the  hour  of  her  deepest  dejection  she  had  confided 
her  secret  to  others,  and  the  result  of  this  confidence  had 
now  arisen  to  thwart  all  their  plans. 

With  a  dizzy  feeling  of  insecurity  Bob  asked,  "Who 
did  you  tell?" 

"Melcher.  He  sent  me  money  to  come  home  with, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  my  only  friend." 

"Friend!    I  thought  you  and  he  were  enemies." 

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"Oh,  he  doesn't  love  me  and  he  doesn't  hate  me," 
Lilas  explained.  "He  seemed  sorry  for  me,  and  I  was 
grateful  for  any  sympathy,  no  matter  where  it  came  from. 
You  see,  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing,  and  I  didn't 
realize  my  mistake  until  it  was  too  late." 

"Melcher  of  all  people!"  Bob  groaned. 

"Wait — that's  not  all.  You  see,  I  wanted  to  go  clean, 
and  yet  I  was  afraid  of  the  police,  so  Max  advised  me 
to  hire  a  lawyer  who'd  get  me  off  light.  Well,  I  did." 

"Goldberg,  I  suppose."  Bob  breathed  a  malediction 
as  Lilas  nodded.  "Why  didn't  you  hire  a  hall  or  book 
yourself  through  the  Lyceum  Bureau?" 

"Don't  be  hard  on  me."  Lilas  had  foresworn  the  stage, 
but  she  did  a  creditable  bit  of  emotional  acting.  "A  fran 
tic  woman  will  do  almost  anything." 

"Well,  present  your  bill  in  full.  What's  the  next  mis 
fortune?" 

"I  had  no  idea  men  could  be  so  vile.  Yesterday  I  told 
Max  of  the  change  in  my  plans;  that  you've  made  life 
possible  to  me  and  showed  me  that  I  couldn't  go  through 
without  consequences  to  others.  He — "  She  dropped 
her  hands  in  a  gesture  of  resignation.  "What's  the  use? 
You  know  the  kind  of  man  he  is." 

"Goon." 

Lilas  began  to  weep  silently,  rocking  her  body  to  and 
fro.  "It's  just  my  luck — when  I  had  another  chance, 
too!  I  don't  care  for  my  own  sake,  but  I  do  love — 
Lorelei;  and  you've  certainly  been  a  prince,  Bob." 

"Good  Lord!  Max  can't  insist  on  your  giving  yourself 
up.  Why,  that's  absurd!" 

"  Oh,  he  doesn't  care  what  becomes  of  me.  It's — it's — " 
Lilas  broke  out  in  a  passion:  "I  never  thought  I  was 
putting  you  in  his  power,  and — and  Lorelei,  too — and 
Jim,  and  Mr.  Merkle.  Of  course  you  won't  believe  that, 
but  I  can't  help  what  you  think.  I  wouldn't  blame  you 
for — killing  me.  Why,  I'd  go  to  the  chair  to  keep  you 

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people  clear,  but — those  are  the  facts.  Now  you've  got 
it  all." 

"Max  sees  money  in  sight,  I  presume?" 

"That's  all  he  sees.  Money?  My  God!  He's  mad. 
Why  he  doesn't  talk  figures  that  I  understand.  It's 
nothing  but  blackmail,  Bob,  and  you  mustn't  stand  for 
it.  He's  a  queer  man — he  helped  me  when  I  was  broke; 
now  he'd  hitch  me  to  a  bull  and  ticket  me  up  the  river, 
to  get  that  money.  Why,  he'd  strap  the  coppers  on  my 
feet  and  turn  on  the  juice  with  his  own  hand  rather  than 
lose  this  chance." 

As  her  flow  of  speech  died  down  to  apologetic  murmurs 
Bob  said  gravely:  "I  never  thought  Merkle  and  I  could 
cover  a  thing  like  Hammon's  death,  but,  after  all,  they 
can't  do  much  to  us." 

"It's  mighty  kind  of  you  to  say  so.  I'll  stand  whatever 
comes  to  me;  I  was  thinking  more  of  Lorelei — she's  in 
no  condition — " 

Bob  uttered  an  exclamation.  "You're  right!  We've 
got  to  gain  time.  After  the  baby's  born  it  won't  matter 
so  much." 

"Max  is  no  fool;  he  won't  wait.  Besides,  Goldberg's 
been  to  see  Inspector  Snell  already  on  my  account,  and 
Snell  is  in  the  know.  He's  holding  back  warrants  now 
for  all  of  us.  I  couldn't  leave  town  if  I  wanted  to." 

The  numbing  force  of  the  calamity  coming  at  this  of  all 
times  fairly  stupefied  Bob,  rendering  him  incapable  of 
clear  analysis  or  even  of  the  suspicions  his  ordinary  intel 
ligence  would  have  prompted. 

"Why  doesn't  Snell  get  busy?"  he  inquired,  blankly,  at 
which  Lilas  lost  her  patience. 

"  Don't  you  see  he's  in  on  the  graft  ?  Snell  doesn't  want 
to  pinch  us.  He  doesn't  care  how  Jarvis  died,  any  more 
than  Max  or  Goldberg  cares.  They  want  money,  money — 
coin!  That's  how  things  are  run  in  this  town,  that's  how 
the  police  are  squared.  If  you  don't  come  across  they'll 

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try  to  show  that  it  was  murder  instead  of  self-defense. 
Remember  it  was  my  gun  that  killed — that  did  the  work — 
and  it  was  found  in  Mammon's  library." 

Before  Bob's  arrival  Lilas  had  prepared  herself  for  this 
scene  by  a  liberal  dose  of  cocaine,  but  the  strain  of  her 
acting  had  exhausted  her  strength;  her  brain  was  tiring. 
Accordingly  she  excused  herself,  and,  once  in  her  bath 
room,  prepared  a  fresh  solution  of  the  powder,  leaving 
Bob  the  while  to  meditate  upon  his  plight.  When  she 
returned  her  eyes  were  brighter  and  she  had  regained 
the  mastery  of  her  unruly  nerves.  Bob  looked  up 
with  a  drawn  expression  that  almost  moved  her  to 
pity. 

"How  much  do  they  want?"  he  inquired,  dully. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Bob.  You  helped  me;  I  won't  see 
you  gouged.  No  matter  what  you  gave  they'd  frame 
you  over  again.  We'd  better  face  it." 

"I  can't  face  it,"  he  cried.  "Alone,  I  would  in  a  minute 
— no  court  in  the  world  would  hold  Merkle  and  me  for 
what  we  did — but  I  can't  let  'em  hurt  my  wife  and  my  kid. 
Why,  Lorelei  would  die  of  fright."  He  choked  and  stam 
mered.  " They  want  money.  How  much?" 

"Merkle  is  the  man  they're  after." 

"How  much?"  he  insisted. 

"It  would  take  a  hundred  thousand  to  square  it." 

Bob  gasped.     "This  is  the  worst  dream  I  ever  had." 

"I  told  you  I  couldn't  understand  their  figures.  But 
Merkle's  a  millionaire.  If  you  had  ten  dollars  you'd 
give  one  to  square  a  copper,  wouldn't  you?  Well,  your 
name's  Wharton,  and  his  is  Merkle.  There's  fifty  million 
dollars  behind  those  two  names,  and  Max  knows  it.  If 
I  had  the  price  I'd  pay  it  to  save  you  people  who  helped 
me  when  I  needed  help,  but— what  have  I  got?  I  told 
Max  he  could  go  to  hell,  and  you'd  better  tell  him  the 
same  thing.  Now— what  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

Bob's  lips  were  white.  "Stand  pat  and  wait  until  I — 
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rob  a  bank.    I've  got  to  buy  three  weeks'  time,  no  matter 
what  it  costs." 

When  he  had  gone  Lilas  'phoned  first  to  Melcher  and 
reported  progress;  then  she  called  up  Jim.  The  latter 
appeared  in  person  that  evening,  and  the  two  sat  until 
late  talking  guardedly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

'""PHERE  was  but  one  man  to  whom  Bob  dared  appeal 
1   in  this  unhappy  situation,  and  that  man  was  John 
Merkle.     The  banker  listened  gravely  to  Bob's  recital, 
then  inquired  with  apparent  irrelevance: 

"You  are  mighty  fond  of  Lorelei,  aren't  you?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

Merkle  nodded  reflectively.  "  I  was  mistaken  in  you," 
he  admitted.  "I  didn't  think  the  marriage  would  last. 
I  suppose  you  are  immensely  pleased  with  yourself — 
reformed  character,  aren't  you?"  His  face  expressed  a 
cynical  inquiry. 

"Pleased  with  myself?  Not  much!  Lorelei  reformed 
me.  I  didn't  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"Good!  I  wondered  if  you  took  all  the  credit  to  your 
self.  Lorelei  did  do  it,  and  I  don't  intend  to  let  you  forget 
the  fact.  Now,  about  this  Lynn  woman — you  have  been 
stung,  Bob." 

' '  You  think  so  ?     I  wonder — ' ' 

"Don't  be  a  fool!" 

"You  think  it  is  a  frame-up?" 

"What  else  could  it  be?     Think!" 

Bob  exploded,  in  desperation:  "I  can't  think  with  my 
wife  in  this  condition.  However,  if  you're  right  I'm 
going  to  see  Max  Melcher  and  tell  him  about  Lorelei. 
Then  I'm  going  to  make  him  wait." 

"Make  him?    Make  him?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  make  him  wait."  Bob's  lips  were 
white,  he  raised  his  eyes  slowly,  and  Merkle  saw  that 
they  were  heavy  with  resentment. 

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"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  the  latter.  "Where  is  your 
common  sense  ?  Never  use  violence ;  it  is  antiquated  and 
expensive.  Suppose  you  let  me  handle  this  thing  in  my 
own  way." 

"Have  you  any  plan?" 

"I'm  never  without  one.  They're  not  all  good  plans, 
understand;  some  are  very  bad,  in  fact.  But,  you  see, 
I  have  been  expecting  something  like  this  for  a  long 
time.  I  saw  blackmail  in  your  brother-in-law's  face  the 
night  Jarvis  Hammon  was  killed.  I  don't  sleep  much, 
so  I  have  time  to  think,  and,  being  dyspeptic,  I'm  always 
suspicious.  Dyspepsia  has  spared  me  many  disappoint 
ments;  people  are  never  any  worse  than  I  believe  them 
to  be." 

"You  don't  believe  Jim  is  in  this,  too?  Why,  he  is 
Lorelei's  brother!" 

"What  possible  difference  can  that  make  to  a  man  of 
his  stamp?"  the  banker  demanded,  querulously.  "Don't 
you  know  your  own  brother-in-law?  To  a  conscienceless 
rogue  it's  no  more  unnatural  to  conspire  against  one's 
relatives  than  against  total  strangers.  It  is  the  logical 
thing  to  do.  It  is  nature's  method  of  protecting  the 
stranger,  and  it's  one  of  the  penalties  for  having  relatives. 
You  are  young  and  sentimental,  so  I  sha'n't  tell  you  what 
my  plan  is.  Meanwhile,  though,  you  may  tell  Lilas  that 
you  have  acquainted  me  with  the  situation  and  that  I  am 
willing  to  spend  a  lot  of  money  to  avoid  publicity." 

"Do  you  mean  you  are  willing  to  pay  her?" 

Merkle  smiled  sourly.  "Let  her  put  her  own  con 
struction  on  the  statement." 

Beyond  this  Merkle  would  give  Bob  little  satisfaction, 
but  later  in  the  day,  after  a  short  telephone  conversation, 
he  called  at  one  of  the  up-town  political  clubs  and  in 
quired  for  Senator  Sabin.  The  Senator  was  expecting 
him,  and  Merkle  lost  no  time  in  explaining  his  trouble. 

Nature  had  endowed  Sabin  with  the  faculty  of  hearing 
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more  than  people  said  and  saying  less  than  people  heard. 
He  sat  now  with  a  graven  smile  upon  his  fat,  good- 
humored  face,  but  with  eyes  that  were  serious  and  watch 
ful.  Only  once  did  he  interrupt  his  caller's  recital,  and 
then  at  the  mention  of  Inspector  Snell. 

"Snell!"  he  exclaimed,  sharply.     "Are  you  sure?" 

"So  the  woman  says." 

Sabin  nodded;  he  carefully  matched  his  fingers,  tip  to 
tip,  and  then  relapsed  into  silence.  Merkle  went  on  with 
his  story,  feeling  the  while  as  if  he  were  addressing  an 
audience  of  two  men,  one  a  sympathetic,  convivial  soul, 
the  other  a  baffling,  sinister  person  behind  a  mask. 
But  when  Sabin  finally  spoke  it  was  as  neither;  his  voice 
was  friendly  and  matter-of-fact. 

"This  is  a  bad  business,  John." 

The  banker  broke  out,  irritably:  "Now  don't  begin 
that!  I  have  a  pastor  who  keeps  me  in  spiritual  uncer 
tainty,  and  a  doctor  who  torments  me  physically,  and  a 
business  that's  hell  in  both  directions.  I  didn't  come 
here  to  swap  tears;  I  want  help." 

"It  may  cost—" 

"Of  course  it  may.  I  don't  expect  you  to  square  it 
with  a  bunch  of  double  English  violets,  but  it  can  be 
squared,  and  it  must  be,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  Hammon's 
women  folks.  It  won't  serve  any  good  purpose  to  air 
that  old  scandal." 

The  Senator  nodded.  "First  we  will  have  to  eliminate 
the  gang — clean  them  out."  He  made  an  expansive, 
eloquent  gesture.  "You  don't  object?" 

"Kill  'em,  if  necessary,"  Merkle  growled,  vindictively. 

"Very  well;   I'll  do  my  best." 

"Then  it's  done." 

Merkle  rose  with  relief,  shook  the  Senator's  limp  and 
pudgy  hand,  then  departed,  knowing  that  the  secret  of 
Jarvis  Hammon's  death  was  quite  as  safe  in  Sabin's 
keeping  as  in  his  own.  That  plump,  imperturbable 

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politician  had  long  been  one  of  the  triumvirate  that  ruled 
the  city,  and  Merkle  knew  him  to  be  the  tomb  of  con 
fessions  far  more  startling  than  this;  he  knew  also  that 
although  Sabin  took  toll  of  the  public  in  the  way  of  all 
powerful  political  rulers  he  put  no  price  on  his  favors. 

That  evening  Inspector  Snell  occupied  the  same  chair 
in  which  Merkle  had  sat,  and  found  himself  the  target  of 
Sabin's  veiled  stare.  Snell  was  a  bulky,  forceful,  unimag 
inative  man.  He  was  vastly  impressive  in  his  uniform, 
but  the  Senator's  questions  appeared  to  bewilder  him. 

"What  do  you  mean — Melcher?"  the  Inspector  finally 
inquired. 

"He  claims  you  give  him  protection." 

The  officer's  face  purpled.  "Oh!  he  does,  does  he? 
Well,  you'd  know  if  I  did,  wouldn't  you?  That's  how 
them  fellows  get  along,  by  selling  something  they  can't 
deliver." 

"Ever  take  any  of  his  money?" 

"Not  a  cent." 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  killing  of  Jarvis  Ham- 
mon?" 

"Hammon,  the  steel  man?  Why,  he  wasn't  killed,  was 
he?"  Snell  was  plainly  puzzled.  "Well,  well!"  he  con 
fessed,  when  the  truth  had  been  gently  eased  into  his 
mind.  "That's  news!  I'm  much  obliged  for  the  tip, 
Senator." 

"Wait  a  minute.  That's  not  the  idea  at  all,"  Sabin 
said,  quickly.  "The  woman  acted  in  self-defense." 

"Ha!  They  all  do.  I'm  thinking  about  myself. 
These  are  big  names — this  is  a  big  case,  and  it  will  do 
me  a  lot  of  good  to  work  it  out." 

"It  will  break  you,"  the  Senator  murmured,  quietly. 
"You  are  getting  ahead  just  as  fast  as  it  is  possible,  Snell. 
Cut  out  this  grave-robbing  stuff  and  make  some  real 
friends.  Understand?  You  need  friends  of  the  right 
sort,  and  this  is  your  chance." 

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For  some  time  longer  the  two  men  talked  guardedly. 
At  last  the  Inspector  rose  to  leave,  saying:  "I  think  I 
have  all  the  details  now,  and  I'll  scatter  the  gang  as 
quick  as  possible.  I  can  hang  something  on  the  woman 
easily  enough,  and  the  boys,  too,  but  it's  different  with 
Max.  He  has  a  drag." 

"Leave  Max  to  me.     Do  you  need  money?" 

"  Not  from  your  friends,  Senator,"  the  officer  disclaimed, 
hastily.  "I'm  only  too  glad  to  help  out  in  any  way  I 
can." 

To  Bob  Wharton  the  suspense  of  the  next  few  days  was 
trying  in  the  extreme,  particularly  as  Merkle  kept  de 
claring  there  was  nothing  to  report,  while  Jimmy  Knight 
betrayed  an  apprehension  so  pitiable  as  well-nigh  to  ban 
ish  suspicion  of  his  complicity  in  the  plot.  But  before 
long  there  came  to  pass  in  various  quarters  certain 
events  which  gave  Bob  cause  for  thought.  Strangely 
enough,  these  events,  one  and  all,  had  some  effect,  either 
direct  or  indirect,  upon  the  habitue's  of  Tony  the  Barber's 
place.  To  begin  with,  Tony  himself  was  summoned  to 
headquarters  and  forced  to  spend  a  distressing  half-hour 
with  a  harsh,  ill-natured  police  official,  as  a  result  of  which 
the  pinochle-room  at  the  rear  of  the  barber-shop  was 
closed  and  the  door  nailed  up.  With  an  unnatural  show 
of  indignation  Tony  warned  its  frequenters  to  stay  away 
from  his  shop.  Naturally  he  had  recourse  to  Melcher, 
who  promised  to  square  the  misunderstanding.  But  for 
once  Melcher  failed.  When  his  efforts  proved  fruitless 
he  was  puzzled.  So  was  Tony.  The  man  upon  whom 
Max  relied  for  help  was  likewise  at  a  loss,  and  finally 
hazarded  the  opinion  that  Tony  must  have  made  an 
enemy  of  somebody  "higher  up." 

This  chilling  phenomenon  was  still  a  subject  of  dis 
cussion  when  Armistead  was  arrested  for.  selling  cocaine. 
Now  Armistead's  addiction  to  the  drug  was  well  known — 
in  fact,  he  readily  confessed  to  it — but,  knowing  only  too 

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well  the  risks  involved  in  its  sale,  he  had  never  even 
contemplated  such  a  thing.  He  was  outraged  and  in 
credulous,  but  a  dope-shattered  derelict  swore  out  a  com 
plaint  against  him,  and  when  Armistead's  room  was 
searched,  strange  to  relate,  the  police  discovered  a  con 
siderable  amount  of  cocaine  concealed  therein.  Bail 
was  fixed  at  an  unusually  high  figure  even  for  a  felony, 
and  Max  Melcher  wondered  vaguely  as  he  arranged  to 
meet  it. 

Misfortunes  multiplied  rapidly.  On  the  very  next 
day  Young  Sullivan  was  caught  picking  pockets  in  the 
Times  Square  Subway  station  and  once  more  Max  was 
forced  to  journey  jailward.  Sullivan's  story  gave  his 
chief  still  more  occasion  for  thought,  for  this  arrest 
seemed  plainly  "a  frame,"  being  absurd  upon  its  face. 
The  pugilist  had  huge,  misshapen  paws  that  could  scarcely 
explore  his  own,  much  less  another's  pockets,  and  his 
stiffened  fingers  could  not  palm  a  coin  in  the  dark,  yet  a 
stranger  had  accused  him  of  deftly  lifting  a  watch.  It 
seemed  significant  that  two  plain-clothes  men  should  have 
been  at  Sullivan's  elbow  at  the  moment.  The  prize 
fighter  had  acted  according  to  his  nature,  and  a  fine  row 
had  resulted,  in  the  midst  of  which  there  had  dropped 
out  of  his  clothes  a  gold  watch  which  Sullivan  violently 
protested  he  had  never  seen  before.  His  imperious 
demand  upon  Max  for  help  was  resentfully  couched,  but 
Melcher  dared  not  refuse  to  act  as  his  bondsman. 

Max  was  worried  when  he  left  the  jail,  and  his  per 
turbation  increased  when  he  discovered  late  that  night  that 
Armistead  had  disappeared,  with  the  evident  intention 
of  jumping  his  bond.  Convinced  now  that  something 
must  be  badly  out  of  joint,  he  lost  no  time  in  warn 
ing  Lilas  Lynn  to  go  slow  with  her  blackmailing  enter 
prise.  Indeed,  he  ordered  her  to  drop  it  entirely  until 
he  had  time  to  discover  where  the  trouble  lay. 

Upon  the  girl  this  command  had  an  unexpected  effect; 

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for  not  only  did  it  prove  to  her  that  Max  had  lost  his  pull 
at  headquarters,  but  it  also  strengthened  her  determination 
to  betray  him  in  accordance  with  Jimmy  Knight's  sug 
gestion.  Why,  indeed,  should  she  share  her  gains  with 
anybody?  If  Max  had  no  right  to  any  part  of  the  loot 
what  possible  claim  had  Jim  to  share  in  it  ?  Once  Lilas's 
cupidity  was  aroused  it  banished  even  that  meager  ghost 
of  honor  that  is  supposed  to  prevail  among  thieves;  and, 
disregarding  Max's  caution,  she  decided  to  take  things 
entirely  into  her  own  hands,  riding  this  wave  of  success 
to  the  finish.  Accordingly  she  sent  for  Bob. 

It  did  not  take  her  long  to  see  that  Wharton  had 
changed  since  their  last  interview,  and  accordingly  she 
did  not  put  herself  to  the  trouble  of  acting — in  fact,  Bob 
allowed  her  no  opportunity  of  doing  so. 

''Now  don't  give  me  that  stall  about  Melcher,"  he  said, 
in  answer  to  her  first  inquiries.  "I'm  on." 

Miss  Lynn's  cheeks  had  lost  the  power  of  changing 
color,  but  her  eyes  were  as  expressive  as  ever,  and  now 
as  she  stared  at  her  victim  they  showed  a  certain  in 
flexibility  of  purpose. 

"You  must  have  been  talking  to  Merkle,"  she  said, 
slowly. 

"Exactly.     He's  not  such  a  fool  as  I  am." 

"Well?"  There  was  an  insolent  rising  inflection  in 
Lilas's  voice.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Bob  had  prepared  himself  for  some  denial,  for  some 
pretense  of  ignorance,  at  least,  and  he  was  taken  aback 
at  this  ready  acceptance  of  his  challenge.  Something 
malevolent  in  her  air  increased  his  uneasiness.  The  girl 
was  as  hard  as  flint  and  seemed  capable  of  any  desperate 
action. 

"You  say  you  love  Lorelei;  you  pretend  to  be  grateful 
to  me — " 

As  if  the  mere  heat  of  his  accusation  had  ignited  her 
fury  Lilas  interrupted  him  angrily:  "Oh,  cut  out  that 

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YOU  must  have  been  talking  to  Merkle.  .  .  .  Well ? 
.  .  .  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 


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love-and-gratitude  talk!  I  want  money,  do  you  under 
stand?  Money!  You  think  I  won't  dare  go  through 
with  this,  and  so  does  Merkle.  You,  neither  of  you, 
can  understand  why  I'll  take  a  chance  on  'the  chair' 
just  to  make  you  pay.  Well,  that's  because  you  are  men, 
and  because  you  are  healthy  and  happy  and  have  some 
thing  to  live  for.  But  what  have  I  got?  I'm  sick. 
I'm  going  to  pieces.  I'll  be  gone  in  a  few  years  if  I  don't 
get  the  coin.  I've  always  fought  and  I've  usually  been 
licked,  but  I  won't  be  licked  this  time.  Men  like  you 
and  John  Merkle  licked  me —  Why,  I  was  licked  before 
I  had  learned  to  fight  back,  and  you  taught  me  to  hate 
you  before  I  had  put  on  long  dresses." 

"You  know  that's  not  true!"  Bob  cried,  sharply. 
"You  harmed  men  before  they  ever  harmed  you.  You 
hated  Jarvis  Hammon,  and  yet  he  did  more  for  you  than 
any  one  in  all  your  life;  Merkle  helped  you,  too,  when 
you  needed  help,  and  so  did  I.  Lorelei  was  your 
friend — " 

"Bah!  I  haven't  any  friends;  I  never  had  any,  and  I 
don't  want  any  now.  Nobody  ever  did  anything  for  me. 
You  and  John  Merkle  are  going  to  pay  me  for  what  other 
men  have  put  me  through.  Oh,  come,  I'm  not  blurring! 
You're  afraid  to  stand  the  gaff,  but  I'm  not.  I'm  getting 
old.  My  looks  are  gone.  Who's  going  to  pay  me  if  you 
don't?  Who — "  Lilas's  voice,  which  has  risen  steadily, 
broke  now,  and  she  shook  a  clenched  fist  in  Wharton's 
face.  He  saw  that  she  had  worked  herself  up  into  one  of 
her  abrupt,  reasonless  rages. 

"I've  got  you !"  she  keened.  "I  can  drag  you  and  your 
sick  wife,  and  Merkle,  and  those  Hammon  women  out 
into  the  light,  and  I'll  do  it,  too.  I  can  make  you  all 
squirm,  so  let's  get  down  to  cases.  There's  millions 
of  dollars  among  you,  millions  that  were  squeezed  out  of 
my  kind  of  people;  now  I'm  going  to  try  my  hand  at 
squeezing.  If  I  lose — very  well.  But  I'll  holler,  and 

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you'll  have  to  stop  my  mouth  or  the  world  will  hear. 
You  don't  dare  holler." 

"I'm  glad  you're  in  the  open  at  last,"  Bob  told 
her,  roughly.  "We'll  see  if  Melcher  is  as  desperate 
as—" 

"To  hell  with  Melcher!"  screamed  the  girl.  "He's  a 
fool.  He's  scared  already,  but  I'm  not,  and  I'm  the  one 
to  settle  with,  remember  that."  She  was  a-quiver  now; 
her  nerves,  tortured  from  overstimulation,  were  jumping ; 
but  she  felt  a  tremendous  sense  of  power,  together  with  a 
contemptuous  disregard  of  consequences.  "Go  to  Max, 
if  you  want  to.  Sound  the  alarm.  Do  anything  you 
please,"  she  mocked,  "but  get  your  pennies  together  or 
I'll  bawl  you  out  from  the  housetops." 

There  was  no  arguing  with  her,  as  she  was  drunk  with 
the  sense  of  her  advantage,  and  Bob  could  only  depart, 
his  ears  ringing  unpleasantly  with  her  threats. 

As  to  just  what  effect  her  unrestrained  spleen  would 
have,  or  in  which  direction  it  might  work  the  greatest 
damage,  he  was  uncomfortably  in  doubt.  For  himself, 
he  had  no  particular  fears,  but  he  dreaded  terribly  the 
effect  upon  his  wife.  It  seemed  to  him,  therefore,  that  the 
only  way  of  gaining  time  was  to  pay  Lilas  enough  to 
satisfy  her.  The  more  he  thought  of  this  the  more 
imperative  seemed  the  necessity,  but  when  he  ventured 
to  submit  the  proposition  to  Merkle  the  banker  curtly 
refused  to  entertain  it. 

Sick  with  anxiety,  weak  at  thought  of  the  peril  to  his 
wife's  health,  Bob  determined  to  call  upon  Max  Melcher 
and  demand  immunity  upon  pain  of  violence.  Accord 
ingly  he  turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  Metro 
politan  Club.  But  as  he  neared  his  destination  he  found 
a  crowd  gathered  in  front  of  the  place;  two  patrol-wagons 
were  backed  up  to  the  curb  opposite  the  gambling-house; 
a  line  of  policemen  streamed  in  and  out  of  the  premises. 
Some  of  the  officers  were  armed  with  axes  and  sledges, 

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others  carried  burdens  that  evoked  jeers  and  taunts  from 
the  bystanders. 

Doubting  the  evidence  of  his  own  eyes,  Bob  elbowed  his 
way  closer.  It  was  true!  The  Metropolitan  Club,  the 
oldest,  the  safest,  the  best-protected  palace  of  chance 
in  the  city,  was  the  object  of  a  daylight  raid.  Its  sacred 
doors  had  been  battered  in,  and  the  fragments  of  furniture 
that  came  out  gave  evidence  that  the  raiders  had  used 
their  destructive  weapons  with  unusual  violence.  Racks 
of  multi-colored  ivory  chips,  faro-layouts,  splintered 
remains  of  expensive  roulette,  crap,  and  poker  tables  of 
mahogany  and  rosewood  were  flung  carelessly  into  the 
waiting  wagons  and  driven  away.  Bob  Wharton's 
amazement  was  shared  by  the  onlookers,  for  nothing  like 
this  had  even  been  known  in  the  Tenderloin. 

Bob  was  not  a  dull  young  man.  In  time  a  light  broke 
through  his  troubled  mind,  and  he  returned  to  Broadway, 
lost  in  thought.  Evidently  Merkle's  plan  was  working. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

ADVENTURES  of  moment  had  also  fallen  to  the  lot 
/\  of  Jimmy  Knight  on  this  day.  Lacking  the  hos 
pitality  of  Tony's  back  room,  Jim  had  of  late  taken  up 
loafing-quarters  in  a  Seventh  Avenue  saloon,  frequented 
by  a  coterie  of  parasitic  young  men  who  subsisted  on  the 
crowds  which  passed  daily  in  and  out  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Station.  On  the  very  afternoon  of  the  Melcher  raid  Jim 
was  sitting  at  a  table  with  one  of  these  fellows,  lending  a 
willing  ear  to  tales  of  easy  money,  when  he  felt  a  touch 
upon  his  shoulder  and,  looking  up,  found  a  plain-clothes 
man  standing  over  him.  The  stranger  wore  no  visible 
badge  of  authority,  but  Jim  knew  him  instantly  for  what 
he  was.  In  the  background  another  person  with  the 
same  indefinable  stamp  of  the  bull  watched  proceedings 
with  an  expressionless  face. 

Now  Jim  had  the  heart  of  a  rabbit,  and,  being  forever 
busy  in  "framing"  some  one,  his  first  suspicion  was  that 
he  himself  was  being  framed.  This  suspicion  proved  all 
too  correct.  Never  in  his  worst  dreams  had  he  experi 
enced  anything  so  distressing  as  what  followed  his  arrest, 
for  it  seemed  as  if  these  officers  cherished  a  personal 
grudge  against  him.  They  seemed  prejudiced  for  no 
reason  whatever,  and  they  made  their  aversion  patent 
in  several  professionally  effective  ways.  Jim  found  his 
arms  twisted  backward  and  upward  until  his  bones 
cracked  and  his  joints  came  loose;  with  wrists  pinioned 
behind  his  shoulder-blades  and  walking  on  his  toes  he  was 
propelled  into  the  street.  Since  this  was  his  first  arrest, 

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he  did  not  know  enough  to  go  quietly,  and  when  one  of  his 
captors  released  his  grip  he  tried  to  wrench  himself 
loose.  Cossacks  could  not  mistreat  a  prisoner  more 
brutally  than  these  policemen  mistreated  poor,  cringing, 
spineless  Jimmy  Knight.  He  reached  the  station-house 
more  dead  than  alive,  and  then  when  he  saw  a  loaded  re 
volver  removed  from  his  own  pocket  he  utterly  collapsed. 
Weeping  like  a  woman,  he  was  led  to  a  cell  and  left  to 
meditate  upon  the  inconsistencies  and  injustices  of  the 
Sullivan  law. 

As  the  hours  crept  by  and  his  efforts  to  obtain  assistance 
proved  unavailing  he  began  to  understand  something  of 
Young  Sullivan's  and  Armistead's  feelings.  Then  light 
came  to  him;  he  learned  of  the  disaster  to  the  Metropol 
itan  Club  and  immediately  lost  faith  in  Melcher's  ability 
to  help  him,  with  the  result  that  when  he  was  finally 
led  to  Inspector  Snell's  office  for  the  third  degree  he 
"squealed"  promptly.  In  his  panic  to  save  himself  he 
volunteered  even  more  of  his  private  history  than  the 
Inspector  desired  to  hear,  and  was  only  too  willing  to 
make  known  all  of  the  facts  of  the  Hammon  case.  Nor 
did  he  withhold  the  truth  about  the  present  attempt  at 
blackmailing  Bob  Wharton  and  Merkle;  the  first  question 
along  this  line  served  to  unlock  his  lips,  and  he  whiningly 
laid  bare  the  entire  conspiracy.  It  seemed,  however, 
that  his  earnest  desire  to  help  the  law  was  scarcely  ap 
preciated,  for  even  after  he  had  blindly  affixed  his  signa 
ture  to  the  documents  which  Inspector  Snell  placed  before 
him  he  was  led  back  to  his  cell. 

Rules  were  far  from  strict  at  Lilas  Lynn's  hotel.  The 
employees  were  not  overcourteous  at  any  time,  and,  al 
though  in  theory  callers  announced  themselves  by  tele 
phone  before  going  up-stairs,  this  was  a  custom  generally 
honored  in  the  breach.  No  question,  therefore,  was 
raised  when  a  heavily  built,  capable-looking  man,  with 

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large  hands  and  feet,  inquired  for  Miss  Lynn's  room- 
number  and  stepped  into  the  elevator  without  declaring 
his  business. 

Lilas  herself  opened  the  door  at  his  knock,  but  showed 
some  reluctance  at  admitting  him  until  he  murmured  the 
magic  word  "Headquarters,"  whereupon  she  fell  back 
with  a  look  of  startled  inquiry  in  her  eyes.  The  stranger 
did  not  trouble  to  remove  his  hat ;  after  a  swift  inventory 
of  the  room  he  announced: 

"The  Inspector  sent  me  to  see  you." 

"What  Inspector?" 

"Snell." 

"Yes?"  Lilas's  voice  was  badly  controlled,  for  there 
was  something  disturbing  about  this  man's  behavior. 

"Your  orders  is  to  leave  town.  Be  out  and  away  at 
eight  o'clock;  that's  four  hours.  Understand?" 

"You  must  be  crazy,"  Lilas  cried,  with  a  show  of  spirit. 
"What  have  I  done?  Who  do  you  think  I  am?  Inspec 
tor  Snell,  eh?  I  don't  know  him,  and  he  doesn't  know 
me." 

"I  guess  he  knows  you,  all  right.  Eight  bells,  sister. 
I'll  be  back  then." 

"But — what  for?  I  haven't  done  anything."  In 
censed  at  the  fellow's  total  indifference,  she  ran  on, 
fiercely:  "I  won't  go.  I'm  no  crook.  You  can't  hustle 
me  out  like  this.  I'll  fight.  I've  got  friends  and  I've  got 
money,  and  I'm  going  to  stay  right  here.  You  haven't 
anything  on  me,  for  I  haven't  done  anything.  I'm  be 
having  myself,  and  I'm  clean.  You  can  tell  Inspector 
Snell  so  for  me." 

The  policeman  silently  drew  from  his  pocket  an  enve 
lope,  which  he  handed  to  her. 

"Before  you  talk  any  louder  suppose  you  give  this  the 
'once  over,'  "  he  said. 

Lilas  glanced  at  the  proffered  package  with  a  sneer. 

"Bah!  Don't  you  think  I  know  a  warrant?"  Then, 
398 


f  OUR  orders  is  to  leave  town.     Be  out  and  away 
at  eight  o'clock;  that's  four  hours.     Understand?" 


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as  she  opened  the  envelope  and  scanned  its  contents,  she 
started.  To  conceal  the  tremor  of  her  hand  she  spread 
the  documents  upon  her  center-table  and  turned  her 
back  to  the  visitor.  An  odd  rigidity  crept  over  her. 
When  she  swung  about  to  speak  her  voice  was  harsh, 
but  her  defiance  had  lessened. 

"I  don't  understand — " 

"Oh!  I  guess  you  do.  Anyhow,  the  whole  story's 
there.  You  see,  Armistead  spilled — that's  why  he 
jumped  his  bond;  he  was  afraid  of  Melcher's  gunmen. 
We  got  Sullivan,  too.  He  was  tough,  but  we  got  him 
finally;  and  as  for  Knight!  Say,  that  little  grafter 
sprained  his  wrist  signing  affidavits." 

"Rot!  You  don't  expect  me  to  believe  all  this?"  Lilas 
demanded,  uncertainly.  "Why,  these  confessions  are 
probably  phony.  You  dictated  them  yourself,  for  all  I 
know.  Anyhow,  they  don't  mean  anything  to  me." 

"Well,  you'd  ought  to  know  whether  they  do  or  not." 
The  policeman  calmly  refolded  the  papers. 

"What  about  Max?    What  does  he  say  about  this?" 

"Oh,  he  takes  it  all  right.  He  knows  we've  got  it  on 
him,  and  he  knows  when  to  lay  down  a  hand.  Max  is  a 
good  sport.  But  I  ain't  here  to  swap  gossip.  If  I  was  you 
I'd  take  it  on  the  run;  you  can't  win  anything  by  sticking." 

"I  won't  go,"  stormed  the  girl.  "It's  a  put-up  job 
to  get  me  away." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,  but  I'll  be  back  at  eight  with  a 
regular  honest-to-goodness  warrant."  The  officer  nodded 
and  walked  out  heavily. 

When  she  was  alone  again  Lilas  felt  as  if  her  knees 
wculd  give  way.  For  the  first  time  she  realized  that  she 
had  no  single  friend  to  whom  she  could  turn  or  in  whose 
assistance  she  could  put  faith.  Before  the  plain-clothes 
man  she  had  maintained  a  pretense  of  firmness,  but  it 
had  been  mere  bravado,  for  in  her  soul  she  had  known, 
those  documents  to  be  authentic.  Their  contents  proved 
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them  so,  and,  now  that  the  police  knew  all,  resistance  was 
plainly  futile. 

During  her  last  talk  with  Bob  Wharton  Lilas  had  felt 
•unbounded  confidence  in  her  ability  to  go  through  with 
her  plans,  come  what  might,  but  now  the  mere  knowledge 
that  those  plans  were  known  changed  everything.  In 
common  with  all  evil-doers,  Lilas  entertained  an  exag 
gerated  distrust  of  the  law  and  a  keen  fear  of  its  trickeries. 
The  fact  that  she  had  been  betrayed,  the  fact  that  she 
now  had  the  open  hostility  of  the  police  to  combat,  con 
vinced  her  that  the  game  was  up. 

As  she  pondered  the  situation  anger  at  the  treachery 
of  her  confederates  grew  and  caused  her  to  forget  her  own 
intended  treachery  to  them.  Even  while  she  was  defying 
the  officer  she  had  begun  to  reconcile  herself  to  the  idea  of 
flight,  and  now  she  set  about  her  preparations. 

Four  hours!  Well,  they  had  given  her  time  enough. 
Much  could  be  done  in  four  hours.  Eight  o'clock  would 
see  her  well  out  from  under  the  shadow  of  the  law.  The 
Law!  Lilas  sneered  as  she  reflected  that  the  law  invari 
ably  shielded  the  rich  and  prosperous  while  it  oppressed 
the  poor  and  the  needy. 

Of  late  her  periods  of  independence  from  cocaine  were 
becoming  shorter  and  of  less  frequent  occurrence,  and 
before  she  had  proceeded  far  with  her  packing  she  found 
herself  badly  in  need  of  stimulation.  Her  resistance  was 
running  low,  it  seemed.  That  splendid  recklessness 
which  had  sustained  her  when  she  flung  her  demand  at 
Bob  was  entirely  gone  now;  she  was  oddly  nervous  and 
unstrung,  so  she  turned  to  the  white  powders. 

Their  effect  was  prompt  and  pleasant,  as  always; 
they  enabled  her  to  lay  vigorous  hold  once  more  upon  her 
scattered  faculties.  As  she  flung  her  belongings  into  her 
trunk  her  first  black  regrets  and  disappointments  began 
to  lighten,  and  she  found  herself  looking  at  the  matter 
more  philosophically.  After  all,  things  were  never  quite 

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hopeless;  she  had  played  for  big  stakes  and  lost — through 
no  fault  of  her  own,  but  through  the  treachery  of  others. 
Well,  this  was  not  her  first  defeat,  and  certainly  it  would 
not  be  her  last  opportunity.  She  would  pretend  to  yield ; 
she  would  go  away  and  wait.  Yes,  that  was  best.  She 
could  always  return,  and  so  long  as  her  money  lasted,  so 
long  as  those  blessed  powders  were  available,  she  was 
assured  of  bodily  and  mental  comfort  at  least.  Mean 
while  no  one  could  rob  her  of  her  secret,  and  sometime, 
somehow  it  could  be  coined  into  money.  Bob  Wharton, 
John  Merkle,  the  Hammon  women,  through  their  in 
fluence  with  the  police,  might  exile  her  from  New  York, 
might  hound  her  from  place  to  place,  but  so  long  as  she 
retained  that  secret  they  were  all  more  or  less  in  her 
power  and  could  not  deny  her  at  least  a  comfortable 
living.  She  even  smiled  contemptuously  as  she  looked 
back  upon  the  way  she  had  fooled  Bob  Wharton  and  the 
concern  he  had  shown  for  Lorelei. 

Then  of  a  sudden  Lilas  awoke  to  the  fact  that  she 
disliked — hated — Bob's  wife.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had 
always  hated  her.  Perhaps  it  was  because  of  Lorelei's 
beauty  or  her  superior  ways,  or — yes,  because  of  her 
clean  soul  that  nothing  had  been  able  to  smirch.  Char 
acter — what  was  it  but  hypocrisy,  or  a  luxury  upon 
which  some  people  prided  themselves?  From  Lorelei, 
Lilas's  thoughts  wandered  naturally  to  Jim,  thence  to  his 
companions,  and  finally  to  Max  Melcher.  One  and  all, 
those  men,  at  the  first  hint  of  danger  to  themselves,  had 
thrown  her  over  and  sought  protection.  That  was  man 
like.  It  pleased  her  at  this  moment  to  call  down  punish 
ments  upon  them  and  to  imagine  the  forms  those  punish 
ments  would  take  if  she  possessed  the  power  to  inflict 
them.  She  owed  those  fellows  something,  and  in  par 
ticular  she  owed  Max  a  grudge,  for  the  whole  scheme  had 
been  his. 

The  cocaine  was  working  swiftly  now;  Lilas  had 

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reached  the  stage  of  exaggerated  self-regard;  her  enmity 
toward  Melcher  grew  with  unnatural  rapidity.  She  had 
evened  more  than  one  score  in  the  past,  she  mused,  why 
not  even  this  one?  In  Jarvis  Hammon's  case,  for  in 
stance,  she  had  taken  the  law  into  her  own  hands  and  had 
exacted  payment  for  a  wrong  that  most  people  would 
have  considered  dead  to  vengeance.  Truly,  that  had 
been  a  revenge!  For  a  long  time  the  memory  of  that 
night's  events  had  been  almost  intolerable:  the  picture  of 
that  dim-lit  library,  of  the  staring,  stricken  face  of  her 
victim  had  more  than  once  rilled  Lilas  with  such  horror 
that  she  had  taken  refuge  in  double  doses  of  cocaine; 
but  now,  strangely  enough,  she  felt  no  repugnance  what 
ever  in  looking  back  upon  it.  On  the  contrary,  she  was 
thrilled  by  the  remembrance  and  exulted  in  her  act  with 
out  restraint.  She  fancied  at  this  moment  that  she  could 
feel  the  cold  contact  of  the  revolver  against  her  palm, 
the  leap  of  the  exploding  weapon,  the  fierce  triumph  that 
had  flamed  through  her  when  Hammon  had  halted  in  his 
tracks,  then  withered  and  crumpled  as  his  wound  took 
effect.  That  had  been  an  instant  worth  all  the  pain  and 
risk  it  cost !  She  lived  again  through  the  white  heat  of 
it,  but  it  left  her  unsatisfied. 

There  were  others  who  had  wronged  her  and  who  de 
served  the  same  fate  as  Hammon — Max  Melcher,  for 
instance.  Max  had  been  her  evil  counselor  in  all  things, 
he  had  always  used  her  as  a  tool,  and  now,  like  a  tool 
which  he  no  longer  had  use  for,  he  cast  her  aside. 

Lilas  found  herself  pacing  the  floor  in  a  peculiar  emo 
tional  frenzy.  Outwardly  she  was  cool,  inwardly  she  was 
a  prey  to  the  wildest  and  wickedest  passions. 

It  is  by  the  use  of  cocaine  that  most  of  the  hired  assassins 
of  the  East  Side  prepare  themselves  to  kill.  Taken  in 
sufficient  quantities,  the  drug  tends  to  produce  a  homicidal 
mania  in  the  consumer,  at  the  same  time  leaving  him  in 
supersensitive  control  of  his  faculties.  Mind  and  body  are 

404 


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unnaturally  stimulated  by  it.  Whisky  numbs  a  man's 
mind  and  makes  his  hands  unsteady;  cocaine  not  only 
crazes  him,  but  lends  him  accuracy  in  shooting.  More 
over,  it  deadens  his  sensibility,  so  that  he  goes  on  fighting 
even  though  riddled  with  wounds.  Thus  the  use  of  this 
drug  explains  why  the  modern  gunman  is  so  deadly 
in  his  work  and  at  the  same  time  so  difficult  of  capture, 
as  it  does  the  similar  phenomena  among  the  Southern 
negroes  who,  since  they  have  been  denied  rum  by  state 
prohibition,  have  taken  to  cocaine. 

Just  how  or  when  Lilas  arrived  at  the  determination  to 
kill  Max  Melcher  she  did  not  know.  The  idea  was  there, 
full-grown  and  firmly  fixed  in  her  mind,  when  she  dis 
covered  it.  She  began  at  once  to  shape  its  execution. 

First  she  called  Tony  the  Barber  by  'phone,  for  now 
that  the  Metropolitan  Club  was  closed  she  knew  of  no 
other  way  of  discovering  her  victim's  whereabouts. 
Max  was  not  at  the  barber  shop,  she  learned,  but  he 
would  be  there  promptly  at  half  past  six  o'clock  for  his 
shave.  Yes,  Tony  declared,  he  always  came  there  at 
that  time;  it  was  a  habit  of  years'  standing. 

Lilas  ordered  her  trunks  sent  down,  paid  her  bill  at  the 
hotel,  and  then  sought  the  nearest  pawn  shop.  She  had 
some  difficulty  in  buying  a  revolver,  but,  succeeding  at 
length,  she  returned  to  her  room  to  arrange  the  final 
details  of  her  plan. 

That  she  had  fixed  upon  Melcher  rather  than  upon 
Bob  or  Merkle  or  some  one  else,  can  be  explained  only 
through  the  vagaries  of  a  disordered  mind,  for,  although 
the  girl  did  not  realize  it,  she  was  by  this  time  quite 
out  of  her  head.  A  desire  as  keen  and  as  compelling  as 
hunger  clamored  for  Max's  death,  and  it  did  not  occur  to 
her  to  resist  it.  Yet  Lilas  had  no  intention  of  sacrificing 
herself;  much  of  the  pleasure  of  the  deed,  she  reflected, 
would  result  from  a  successful  "get  away,"  and  therefore 
she  craftily  arranged  her  escape.  She  would  drive  to 

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Tony's,  so  ran  her  plan,  tell  her  taxi-cab  driver  to  wait, 
then  enter  the  place  quietly  and  swiftly.  Max  would  be 
stretched  out  in  one  of  the  chairs  and  quite  unaware  of  her 
approach  until  she  bent  over  him;  he  would  gain  no 
hint  of  her  design  until  he  felt  her  weapon  against  his  body. 
Such  a  simple  mode  of  procedure  could  not  fail,  and — .this 
ferocious  longing  to  kill  would  be  satisfied.  In  the  con 
fusion  following  the  shot,  Lilas  reasoned,  it  would  be  easy 
to  slip  out  of  the  place,  step  into  her  taxi  and  drive  to  the 
station.  Once  she  was  lost  in  that  crowded  place  who 
could  apprehend  her?  In  half  an  hour  she  would  be  out 
of  the  state. 

There  still  remained  some  time  to  wait  and,  to  guard 
herself  against  a  diminution  of  the  drug's  effect,  she  took 
another  liberal  dose.  After  a  time  this  resulted  in  an 
added  intensity  of  concentration,  an  even  greater  mental 
activity  and  strength  of  purpose.  She  felt  equal  to  any 
thing,  afraid  of  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth. 

For  fear  that  Max  might  anticipate  his  regular  time  of 
arrival  she  again  telephoned  to  Tony,  but,  learning  that 
he  had  not  done  so,  she  gossiped  briefly  with  the  barber, 
discussing  the  raid  on  the  Metropolitan,  the  misfortunes 
that  had  overtaken  their  mutual  friends,  and  other  top 
ics  of  interest.  She  realized  from  Tony's  laughter  that 
she  was  talking  with  unusual  wit  and  brilliance. 

Her  buoyancy  was  becoming  a  trifle  oppressive  now, 
so  she  rang  off,  and  a  few  moments  later  discovered  that 
her  last  inhalation  of  the  drug  was  beginning  to 
affect  her  heart.  Before  long  its  palpitation  had  become 
unpleasant,  though  not  alarming  as  yet  and  probably  no 
more  than  a  passing  phase.  However,  since  ample  time 
remained,  she  decided  to  lie  down.  The  reclining  position 
gave  her  some  relief,  but  that  odd,  nightmarish  over- 
stimulation  continued;  in  fact,  it  increased  until  it  became 
almost  unbearable.  She  closed  her  eyes  only  to  behold 
a  whirling  confusion  of  shapes  and  visions.  Gradually 

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her  mind  became  peopled  by  distorted  fancies.  The 
moments  crept  on  and  the  phantasmagoria  continued.  .  .  . 
Lilas  realized  at  last  that  she  was  ill.  She  was  confused, 
hysterical,  wretched.  She  tried  to  rise,  but  failed.  .  .  . 
She  found  herself  swimming  through  space;  blinding  lights 
and  choking  vapors  enveloped  her.  She  noted  with  a  dull 
sense  of  alarm  that  her  heart  was  skipping ;  this  frightened 
her  into  calling  for  help,  but  her  voice  sounded  weak  and 
unreal.  .  .  .  Everything  was  unreal;  objects  in  the  room 
were  distorted  and  queer.  .  .  .  What  was  it  that  so  terri 
fied  her?  .  .  .  Was  it  death? 


CHAPTER   XXVLII 

T  ATE  that  night  John  Merkle  telephoned  Bob  Whar- 
i-^  ton  to  say: 

"Headquarters  just  rang  me  up  and  told  me — prepare 
yourself  for  a  shock — Lilas  Lynn  is  dead." 

"Dead?"  Bob  cried,  in  a  startled  voice.  "Dead! 
How?  When  did  it  happen?  I  can't  believe  it." 

Merkle  made  known  the  details  that  had  come  to  him. 
"Looks  like  suicide,  but  they're  not  sure.  Anyhow,  she 
took  too  much  dope  of  some  sort.  You  can  sleep  easy 
now.  I  wish  I  could." 

"I  suppose  it's  the  law  of  compensation." 

"Compensation?"  Merkle's  voice  sounded  querulous. 
"There's  no  such  thing.  Don't  talk  to  a  Wall  Street  man 
about  the  law  of  compensation." 

"Well,  then,  call  it  Providence." 

"Providence  has  too  much  on  its  hands  to  bother  with 
people  like  her.  No,  there  is  a  certain — well,  immova 
bility  about  the  conventional,  and  Lilas  wasn't  strong 
enough  to  topple  it  over." 

"I — I'm  shocked,  of  course,  and  yet  I  can't  help  feeling 
greatly  relieved.  Rotten  thing  to  say — " 

"Not  at  all.     I'm  delighted." 

"Once  I  read  about  a  flare-back  on  a  battle-ship,  and 
how  a  fellow  threw  himself  into  the  door  of  the  powder- 
magazine  to  prevent  an  explosion.  That's  me!  I'm 
nearly  scorched  to  death." 

Bob's  anxiety  had  been  so  intense  of  late  that  this 
unexpected  solution  of  his  difficulties  seemed  indeed 

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nothing  less  than  a  godsend.  Lorelei,  thank  Heaven !  had 
been  saved  from  any  knowledge  of  the  affair,  and  when  he 
went  down  to  business  it  was  with  a  lighter  heart  than  he 
had  felt  for  some  time.  Bob's  acquaintance  with  Lilas 
Lynn  had  been  far  from  pleasant;  she  had  repaid  his 
kindness  with  treachery,  and  now,  although  he  was  not  a 
callous  person,  he  could  not  pretend  that  his  pity  exceeded 
his  relief.  His  regrets  at  the  girl's  tragic  end  were  those 
which  any  normal  man  would  have  felt  at  the  death  of  an 
acquaintance,  but  they  were  far  overbalanced  now  by  his 
joy  at  the  fact  that  no  further  shadows  menaced  the 
peace  of  his  wife  and  that  once  again  the  future  was  all 
dancing  sunshine. 

Bob  had  seldom  been  conscious  of  a  deliberate  effort 
to  please  himself,  for  to  want  a  thing  had  always  meant  to 
have  it  almost  before  the  desire  had  been  recognized. 
The  gratification  of  his  impulses  had  become  a  sort  of 
second  nature  to  him,  and  now,  feeling  that  he  owed  a 
debt  of  friendliness  to  the  world,  he  was  impelled  to 
liquidate  it. 

He  did  struggle  half-heartedly  against  his  first  drink, 
but  after  he  had  taken  it  and  after  other  drinks  had  gone 
the  way  of  the  first  he  was  troubled  less  and  less  by  the 
consciousness  of  broken  resolves.  He  met  a  number  of 
people  whom  he  liked  and  to  whom  he  was  inspired  to 
show  his  liking,  and,  strange  to  say,  the  more  he  drank 
the  more  of  such  friends  he  discovered.  By  late  afternoon 
he  was  in  a  fantastically  jubilant  mood,  and,  seizing  Kurtz, 
he  bore  him  across  the  way  to  Delmonico's. 

Now,  Kurtz  was  worldly  and  therefore  tolerant.  He 
had  grown  to  like  and  to  understand  his  young  associate 
very  well  indeed,  and  something  about  Bob's  riotous 
disposition  to  gladness  awoke  a  response  in  the  little  tailor. 

It  was  that  expansive  and  expensive  hour  of  the  after 
noon  when  business  worries  are  dropped  and  before  social 
cares  are  shouldered.  It  was  cocktail- time  along  the 

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Avenue,  the  hour  Svhen  sprees  are  born  and  engagements 
broken,  and  as  it  lengthened  Wharton  celebrated  it  as  in 
days  gone  by.  His  last  regret  had  vanished,  he  was 
having  a  splendid  time,  when  a  page  called  him  to  a 
telephone-booth. 

AdoreVs  voice  greeted  him;  she  was  speaking  from  his 
own  home,  and  her  first  words  almost  sobered  him. 
Something  was  wrong;  Bob  was  needed  quickly;  Lorelei 
was  asking  for  him.  For  more  than  an  hour  they  had  been 
vainly  trying  to  locate  him.  They  had  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  doctor,  and  he  was  there — with  a  nurse. 
AdoreVs  voice  broke — probably  it  was  nothing  serious, 
but  Lorelei  was  frightened  and  so  was  the  speaker. 
Bob  had  better  waste  no  time,  for — one  never  could  tell 
what  might  happen  in  cases  of  this  sort. 

When  Bob  lurched  out  of  the  booth  he  was  white;  the 
noisy  group  he  had  left  rose  in  alarm  at  sight  of  his 
stricken  face.  His  legs  led  him  a  crooked  course  out  of 
the  cafe,  bringing  him  into  collision  with  chairs  and  tables 
and  causing  him  to  realize  for  the  first  time  how  far  he  had 
allowed  himself  to  go.  In  a  shaking  voice  he  called  for 
a  taxi-cab,  meanwhile  allowing  the  raw  air  of  the  street 
to  cool  his  head. 

But  as  he  was  hurried  up  the  Avenue  his  fright  grew 
until  he  lost  himself  in  a  dizzy,  drunken  panic.  He  tried 
to  lay  hold  of  himself,  but  his  thoughts  were  as  unruly 
as  his  legs  had  been.  The  significance  of  his  conduct 
and  its  probable  effect  upon  his  wife  filled  him  with 
horror.  Fate  had  cunningly  timed  her  punishment. 
Before  long  he  began  to  attribute  this  catastrophe,  what 
ever  it  might  prove  to  be,  directly  to  his  own  criminal 
behavior,  and  for  once  in  his  care-free  life  he  knew  the 
taste  of  bitter  regret.  But  he  could  not  think  coherently; 
black  fears  were  pouring  in  upon  him  with  a  speed  to 
match  the  staggering  objects  that  fled  past  his  open  cab 
window. 

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The  terror  of  the  unknown  was  upon  him.  What  if 
Lorelei  should  die?  Bob  asked  himself.  A  swing  of  the 
vehicle  flung  him  into  a  corner,  where  he  huddled,  slack- 
jawed,  staring.  He  was  unable  to  shut  out  this  last 
suggestion.  If  Lorelei  died  he  would  be  her  murderer, 
that  was  plain.  He  had  wanted  a  child,  to  be  sure,  but 
until  this  moment  he  had  never  counted  the  risk  nor 
realized  what  price  might  be  exacted.  No  child  could  be 
worth  a  risk  to  Lorelei. 

But  regrets  were  unavailing.  "Something  had  gone 
wrong,"  and  Lorelei  needed  him.  She  was  calling  for 
him  and  he  was  drunk.  He  would  reel  up  to  her  bed 
of  pain  with  bleared  eyes,  with  poisoned  lips.  How  could 
he  kiss  her?  How  could  be  explain? 

The  cab  swung  into  the  curb,  and  he  scrambled  out, 
then  stumbled  blindly  up  the  steps  and  into  the  building 
where  he  lived. 

Adoree  met  him  at  his  own  door.  Lorelei's  summons 
had  evidently  found  the  dancer  dressed  for  anything 
except  such  a  crisis,  for  Miss  Demorest  was  arrayed  in  the 
very  newest  importation.  The  lower  half  of  her  figure 
was  startlingly  suggestive  of  the  harem,  while  above  the 
waist  she  was  adorned  like  a  Chinese  princess.  A  tango 
cap  of  gold  crowned  her  swirls  of  hair,  and  from  it  de 
pended  a  string  of  tremendous  beads,  looped  beneath  her 
chin.  She  presented  a  futurist  combination  of  colors, 
mainly  Mandarin  yellow  and  royal  blue,  both  of  which  in 
some  peculiar  way  seemed  to  extend  upward,  tingeing  her 
cheeks.  But  Wharton's  impression  was  vague;  he  saw 
little  more  than  the  tragic  widening  of  the  girl's  eyes  as  she 
recognized  his  condition. 

"Am  I  as  bad  as  that?"  he  stammered.  "Do  you 
think  she'll  notice  it?" 

"Oh,  Bob!"  Adoree  cried,  in  a  stricken  voice.  "How 
could  you — at  this  time?" 

"You  said  she  wanted  me.     I  couldn't  take  time — " 
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"Yes!  She  has  been  calling  for  you,  but  I'm  sorry  I 
found  you." 

A  silent-footed  figure  in  a  nurse's  uniform  emerged 
from  the  dining-room,  and  her  first  expression  of  relief  at 
sight  of  Bob  changed  swiftly  to  a  stare  of  startled  wonder 
ment.  Bob  was  not  too  drunk  to  read  the  half-spoken 
protest  on  her  lips.  Then  he  heard  his  wife  calling  him 
and  realized  that  somehow  she  knew  of  his  coming. 
At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  strangely  throaty  and  hoarse 
from  pain,  the  strength  ran  out  of  his  body.  The  doctor 
heard  him  fumbling  at  the  bedroom  door  and  admitted 
him;  then  a  low,  aching  cry  of  disappointment  sounded, 
and  Adoree  Demorest  bowed  her  head  upon  her  arms. 

When  Bob  groped  his  way  back  into  the  living-room 
his  look  was  ghastly;  his  face  was  damp;  his  eyes  were 
desperate. 

"She  sent  me  away,"  he  whispered. 

"Poor  thing!"  He  winced  at  Adoree's  tone.  "God! 
I  heard  her  when  she  saw  you.  I  wonder  if  you  realize — " 

"Oh  yes,"  he  nodded,  slowly.  "I  don't  get  drunk  all 
over,  like  most  men.  I'm  afraid  I'll  never  forget  that 
cry."  v 

He  was  trembling,  and  his  terror  was  so  pitiful  that 
Adoree  laid  a  compassionate  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Don't  let  go,  Bob.  Hold  your  thoughts  steady  and 
sober  up.  We  must  all  help. ' ' 

"Tell  me — you  know  about  these  things — tell  me 
honestly — " 

"What  do  I  know  about  such  things?  What  can  I  tell 
you?"  bitterly  cried  the  dancer.  " I  don't  know  anything 
about  babies.  I  never  even  held  one  in  my  arms.  I'm 
worse  frightened  than  you  are." 

Darkness  found  Bob  huddled  in  his  chair  fighting  for 
his  senses,  but  as  the  liquor  died  in  him  terrible  fancies 
came  to  life.  Those  muffled  cries  of  pain  rising  now  and 
then  terrorized  him,  and  yet  the  long  intervals  of  silence 

412 


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between  were  worse,  for  then  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
fight  must  be  going  against  his  wife  and  that  her  strength 
must  be  proving  insufficient.  There  were  times,  too, 
when  he  felt  the  paralyzing  conviction  that  he  was  alone 
in  the  house,  and  more  than  once  he  stole  down  the  hall, 
his  heart  between  his  teeth,  his  body  shaking  in  a  palsy 
of  apprehension. 

A  frightened  maid  began  preparations  for  his  dinner, 
but  he  ordered  her  away.  Then  when  she  brought  him  a 
tray,  anger  at  the  thought  that  his  own  comfort  should 
be  considered  of  consequence  made  him  refuse  to  touch  it. 

At  length  his  inactivity  became  unbearable,  and,  feeling 
the  desperate  need  of  sane  counsel,  he  telephoned  to  John 
Merkle.  Bob  was  too  deeply  agitated  to  more  than  note 
the  banker's  statement  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hannibal 
Wharton  were  in  the  city,  but,  recalling  it  later,  he  experi 
enced  a  stab  of  regret  that  his  mother  was  not  here  to 
comfort  Lorelei  in  the  first  great  crisis  of  her  womanhood. 
It  had  been  Lorelei's  wish  that  her  own  mother  be  kept 
in  ignorance  of  the  truth,  and  now,  therefore,  the  girl  had 
no  one  to  lean  upon  except  an  unpractical  stage-woman 
— and  a  drunken  husband.  In  Bob's  mind  the  pity  of 
it  grew  as  the  time  crept  on. 

But  Adoree  Demorest  was  wonderful.  Despite  her 
inexperience  she  was  calm,  capable,  sympathetic,  and, 
best  of  all,  her  normality  afforded  a  support  upon  which 
both  the  husband  and  the  wife  could  rest.  When  she 
finally  made  herself  ready  for  the  street  Bob  cried  piteously : 

"You're  not  going  to  leave  us?" 

"I  must.  It's  nearly  theater- time,"  she  told  him. 
"It's  one  of  the  penalties  of  this  business  that  nothing 
must  hold  the  curtain;  but  I'll  be  back  the  minute  the 
show  is  over." 

"Lorelei  needs  you." 

Adore"e  nodded;  her  eyes  met  Bob's  squarely,  and  he 
saw  that  they  were  wet.  Her  face  was  tender,  and  in 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

spite  of  her  grotesquely  affected  toilette  she  appeared  very 
simple  and  womanly  at  this  moment.  Her  absurd 
theatricalism  was  gone;  she  was  a  natural,  unaffected 
young  woman. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  help,"  wearily  con 
tinued  Bob,  but  Adore'e  shook  her  head  so  violently  that 
the  barbaric  beaded  festoon  beneath  her  chin  clicked 
and  rattled. 

"She  knows  you're  close  by;  that's  enough.  This  is  a 
poor  time  to  preach,  but — it  seems  to  me  if  you've  got  a 
bit  of  real  manhood  in  you,  Bob,  you'll  never  drink  again. 
The  shock  of  seeing  you  like  this — when  she  needed  you — 
didn't  help  her  any." 

"  I  know!  I  know!"  The  words  were  wrung  from  him 
like  a  groan.  "But  the  thing  is  bigger  and  stronger  than 
I  am.  It  takes  both  of  us  to  fight  it.  If  she  should — 
leave  me  I'd  never  pull  through  and — I  wouldn't  want 
to." 

Never  until  she  left  Lorelei's  house  and  turned  toward 
the  white  lights  of  Broadway  did  Adore'e  Demorest  fully 
realize  whither  her  theatrical  career  had  carried  her. 
Lorelei,  it  seemed  to  her  now,  had  lived  to  high  purpose; 
she  was  soon  to  be  a  mother.  But  as  for  herself — the 
dancer  cringed  at  the  thought.  What  had  her  life  brought  ? 
Notoriety,  shame !  In  the  eyes  of  men  she  was  abomina 
ble.  She  had  sold  herself  for  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a 
false  name  blazoned  in  electric  lights,  while  Lorelei  had 
played  the  game  differently  and  won.  Yes,  she  would 
have  won  even  though  she  died  to-night.  But  how  could 
a  woman  like  Adore'e  Demorest,  "The  King's  Favorite," 
"The  Woman  with  the  Rubies,"  hope  for  wifehood  or  for 
motherhood  ?  The  bitterness  of  these  reflections  lay  in  the 
fact  that  Adore'e  knew  herself  to  be  pure.  But  the  world 
considered  her  evil,  and  evil  in  its  eyes  she  would  remain. 
How  could  she  hope  to  bring  anything  but  misery  to  a 
husband  or  bequeath  anything  but  shame  to  a  child? 

414 


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At  this  moment  she  would  gladly  have  changed  places 
with  that  other  girl  whose  life  hung  in  the  scales. 

John  Merkle  had  never  lost  interest  in  Lorelei,  nor  for 
gotten  her  refusal  of  his  well-meant  offer  of  assistance. 
From  the  night  of  their  first  meeting  she  had  intrigued 
his  interest,  and  her  marriage  to  Bob  had  deepened  his 
friendly  feeling.  Although  he  prided  himself  upon  a  rep 
utation  for  harsh  cynicism  and  cherished  the  conviction 
that  he  was  wholly  without  sentiment,  he  was  in  reality 
more  emotional  than  he  believed,  and  Lorelei's  courageous 
efforts  to  regenerate  her  husband,  her  vigorous  deter 
mination  to  build  respectability  and  happiness  out  of  the 
unpromising  materials  at  her  hand,  had  excited  his 
liveliest  sympathy.  It  pleased  him  to  read  into  her 
character  beauties  and  nobilities  of  which  she  was  utterly 
unconscious  if  not  actually  devoid.  Now  that  she  had 
come  to  a  serious  crisis  Merkle's  slowly  growing  resent 
ment  at  Bob's  parents  for  refusing  to  recognize  her  burst 
into  anger.  The  result  was  that  soon  after  his  talk  with 
Bob  he  telephoned  Hannibal  Wharton,  making  known  the 
situation  in  the  most  disagreeable  and  biting  manner  of 
which  he  was  capable.  Strange  to  say,  Wharton  heard 
him  through,  then  thanked  him  before  ringing  off. 

When  Hannibal  had  repeated  the  news  to  his  wife  she 
moved  slowly  to  a  window  and  stood  there  staring  down 
into  the  glittering  chasm  of  Fifth  Avenue.  Bob's  mother 
was  a  frail,  erect,  impassive  woman,  wearied  and  saddened 
with  the  weight  of  her  husband's  millions.  There  had 
been  a  time  when  society  knew  her,  but  of  late  years  she 
saw  few  people,  and  her  name  was  seldom  mentioned 
except  in  connection  with  her  benefactions.  Even  the 
true  satisfaction  of  giving  had  been  denied  her,  since 
real  charity  means  sacrifice.  Wealth  had  lent  her  a 
painful  conspicuousness  and  had  made  her  a  target  for 
multifarious  demands  so  insistent,  so  ill-considered,  so 


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unworthy — many  of  them — that  she  had  been  forced  into 
an  isolation,  more  strict  even  than  her  husband's. 

Great  responsibilities  had  changed  Hannibal  Wharton 
into  a  machine;  he  had  become  mechanical  even  in  his 
daily  life,  in  his  pleasures,  in  his  relaxations.  His  sus 
picions  and  his  dislikes  were  also  more  or  less  automatic, 
but  in  all  his  married  life  he  had  never  found  cause  to 
complain  of  anything  his  wife  had  done.  He  was  serenely 
conscious,  moreover,  of  her  complete  accord  with  his 
every  action,  and  now,  therefore,  in  reporting  Merkle's 
conversation  he  spoke  musingly,  as  a  man  speaks  to  him 
self. 

"John  loves  to  be  caustic;  he  likes  to  vocalize  his 
dyspepsia,"  the  old  man  muttered.  "Well,  if  it's  as 
serious  as  he  seems  to  think,  we  may  be  spared  the  dis 
grace  of  a  grandchild."  Mrs.  Wharton  did  not  stir;  there 
was  something  uncompromising  in  the  rigid  lines  of  her 
back  and  in  her  stiffly  poised  head.  "People  of  her 
kind  always  have  children,"  he  continued,  "and  that's 
what  I  told  Bob.  I  told  him  he  was  laying  up  trouble  for 
himself." 

"Bob  had  more  to  him  than  we  thought,"  irrelevantly 
murmured  the  mother. 

"More  than  we  thought?"  Hannibal  shook  his  head. 
"Not  more  than  7  thought.  I  knew  he  had  it  in  him; 
you  were  the  one — " 

"No,  no!  We  both  doubted.  Perhaps  this  girl  read 
him." 

"Sure  she  read  him!"  snorted  the  father.  "She  read 
his  bank-book.  But  I  fooled  her." 

"Do  you  remember  when  Bob  was  born?" 

"Eh?" 

"Do  you  remember?     I  had  trouble,  too." 

Into  Hannibal's  eyes  came  a  slow  and  painful  light  of 
reminiscence. 

"The  doctors  thought—" 

416 


'"PHERE  was  a  silence,  then  Hannibal  looked  up  to 
1  find  his  wife  standing  over  him. 
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' '  Of  course  I  remember !' '  her  husband  broke  in.  ' '  Those 
damned  doctors  said  you'd  never  come  through  it." 

' '  Yes ;  I  wasn'  t  strong. ' ' 

"But  you  did.  I  was  with  you.  I  fought  for  you.  I 
wouldn't  let  you  die.  Remember  it?"  The  speaker  moist 
ened  his  lips.  "Why,  I  never  forgot." 

"Bob  is  experiencing  something  like  that  to-night." 

Hannibal  started,  then  he  fumbled  uncertainly  for  a 
cigar.  When  he  had  it  lighted  he  said,  gruffly,  "Well,  it 
made  a  man  of  me;  I  hope  it  '11  help  Bob." 

Still  staring  out  across  the  glowing  lights  and  the 
mysterious,  inky  blots  that  lay  below  her,  Mrs.  Wharton 
went  on:  "You  are  thinking  only  of  Bob,  but  that  girl  is 
suffering  all  I  suffered  that  night,  and  I'm  thinking  of  her, 
too.  She  is  offering  her  life  for  the  life  of  a  little  child, 
just  as  I  offered  mine." 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Hannibal  looked  up  to  find 
his  wife  standing  over  him  with  face  strangely  humble. 
Her  eyes  were  appealing,  her  frail  figure  was  shaking 
wretchedly. 

"  My  dear!"  he  cried,  rising. 

"I  can't  keep  it  up,  Hannibal.  I  can't  pretend  any 
longer.  It's  Bob's  baby  and  it's  ours — "  Disregarding 
his  denial,  she  ran  on,  swiftly:  "I  wanted  more  children, 
but  I  couldn't  have  them,  so  I've  starved  myself  all  these 
years.  You  can't  understand,  but  I'm  lonely,  Hannibal, 
terribly  lonely  and  sad.  Bob  grew  up  and  went  away,  and 
all  we  had  left  was  money.  The  dollars  piled  up;  year 
by  year  they  grew  heavier  and  heavier  until  they  squeezed 
our  lives  dry  and  crowded  out  everything.  They  even 
crowded  out  our  son  and — spoiled  him.  They  made  you 
into  a  stone  man ;  they  came  between  me  and  the  people 
and  the  things  I  loved;  they  walled  me  off  from  the  world. 
My  life  is  empty — empty.  I  want  to  mother  something." 

Hannibal  inquired,  hoarsely:  "Not  this  baby,  surely? 
Not  that  woman's  child?" 

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"It's  Bob's  baby  and  ours." 

He  looked  down  at  her  queerly  for  a  moment.  "The 
breed  is  rotten.  If  he  had  married  a  decent  girl — " 

"John  Merkle  says  she  is  splendid." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  have  talked  with  him.  I  have  learned  whatever  I 
could  about  her,  wherever  I  could,  and  it's  all  good. 
After  all,  Bob  loves  her,  and  isn't  that  enough?" 

"But  she  doesn't  love  him,"  stormed  the  father.  "She 
said  she  didn't.  She  wants  his  money,  and  she  thinks 
she'll  get  it  this  way." 

"Do  you  think  money  can  pay  her  for  what  she  is 
enduring  at  this  minute?  She's  frightened,  just  as  I  was 
frightened  when  Bob  was  born.  She's  sick  and  suffering. 
But  do  you  think  all  our  dollars  could  buy  that  child 
from  her?  Money  has  made  us  hard,  Hannibal;  let's — 
be  different." 

"I'm  afraid  we  have  put  it  off  too  long,"  he  answered, 
slowly.  "She  won't  forgive  us,  and  I'm  not  sure  I  want 
her  to." 

"Bob's  in  trouble.    Won't  you  go  to  him?" 

Hannibal  Wharton  opened  his  lips,  closed  them;  then, 
taking  his  hat  and  coat,  he  left  the  room. 

But  as  the  old  man  went  up-town  his  nerve  failed  him. 
He  was  fixed  in  his  ways,  he  had  a  blind  faith  in  his  own 
infallibility.  Twice  he  rode  up  in  the  elevator  to  his 
son's  door,  twice  he  rode  down  again.  The  hall-man 
informed  him  that  the  crisis  had  not  passed,  so,  finding 
the  night  air  not  uncomfortable,  Hannibal  settled  himself 
to  wait.  After  all,  he  told  himself,  this  was  not  the 
moment  for  a  painful  reconciliation. 

As  time  dragged  on  he  came  to  a  reckoning  with  his 
conscience,  and  his  meditations  brought  home  the  realiza 
tion  that  despite  his  success,  despite  the  love  and  com 
panionship  of  his  wife,  he,  too,  was  growing  old  and 
lonely. 

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During  the  chill,  still  hours  after  the  city  had  gone  to 
rest  an  automobile  drew  up  to  the  apartment  house; 
when  its  expected  passenger  emerged  from  the  building 
a  grim-faced  stranger  in  a  greatcoat  accosted  him.  One 
glance  challenged  the  physician's  attention,  and  he 
answered : 

"Yes,  it's  all  over.     A  boy." 

"And — Mrs.  Wharton,  the  mother?" 

"Youth  is  a  wonderful  thing,  and  she  has  everything 
to  live  for.  She  is  doing  as  well  as  could  be  expected. 
You're  a  relative,  I  presume?" 

The  old  man  hesitated,  then  his  voice  came  boldly. 
"Yes,  I'm  her  father." 

When  the  doctor  had  driven  away  Hannibal  strode 
into  the  building  and  telephoned  to  the  Waldorf,  but  now 
his  words  were  short  and  oddly  broken.  Nevertheless 
they  brought  a  light  of  gladness  to  the  eyes  of  the  woman 
who  had  waited  all  these  hours. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

ADOREE  DEMOREST,  still  in  her  glittering,  hybrid 
/\  costume,  but  heavy -limbed  and  dull  with  fatigue, 
paused  outside  her  own  door  early  that  morning.  The 
time  lacked  perhaps  an  hour  of  dawn,  the  street  outside 
and  the  building  itself  was  silent,  yet  from  AdoreVs  parlor 
issued  the  sound  of  light  fingers  upon  piano-keys.  Adoree 
entered,  to  find  Campbell  Pope,  with  collar  loosened  and 
hair  on  end,  seated  at  the  instrument.  The  air  within 
the  room  was  blue  and  reeking  with  the  odor  of  stale 
tobacco-smoke,  and  the  ash-receiver  at  his  elbow  was 
piled  high  with  burnt  offerings,  one  of  which  was  now 
sending  an  evil.-smelling  streamer  toward  the  ceiling. 

Pope  rose  at  Adoree's  entrance,  eying  her  anxiously. 
" Is  everything  all  right?"  he  cried. 

"Is  what  all  right?" 

"The--er— Lorelei." 

"Oh  yes!    What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  suppose  I  must  apologize.  You  see,  I  heard  the 
news  and  came  here  after  the  show.  When  I  learned 
where  you  were  I  decided  to  wait  and — and  help." 

"You  decided  to — help?"  Adore*e  eyed  the  disheveled 
musician  queerly.  "By  smelling  up  my  parlor  and  play 
ing  my  poor  piano  all  night — is  that  how  you  help? 
What  do  you  mean,  'help'?" 

The  critic  appeared  to  realize  for  the  first  time  the  late 
ness  of  the  hour.  Glancing  at  his  watch,  he  gasped : 

"Why,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  this  time.  I've  been  here 
all  night,  haven't  I?  You  see,  after  I  got  in  I  was  afraid 
to  go  out  without  explaining." 

422 


"Why,  she  reformed  me  from  the  ground  up 


I've  sworn  off  every  blessed  thing  I  used  to  do." 


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"What  do  you  mean  by  saying  you  wanted  to  'help'?" 
Miss  Demorest  repeated,  curiously.  "You've  helped  to 
break  my  lease — I'll  be  thrown  out  of  this  house  sure." 

Pope  stammered,  guiltily,  "I  was  playing  for  Bob  and 
Lorelei." 

With  one  glove  half  off  Adoree  slowly  seated  herself, 
showing  in  her  face  an  amazement  that  increased  the 
man's  embarrassment. 

"I  knew  it  was  a  serious  matter,"  he  explained,  "and, 
being  terribly  fond  of  Bob  and  Lorelei,  I  naturally  wanted 
to  do  what  I  could." 

"Yes,  go  on." 

Pope  took  a  deeper  breath,  then  burst  out: 

"Oh,  I  have  a  sixty-horse-power  imagination,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  music  is  a  sort  of — prayer;  anyhow  it's 
the  only  way  I  know  of  praying.  Good  music  is  divine 
language;  it's  what  the  angels  speak,  if  there  are  any 
angels.  Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  soar  heaven 
ward  on  the  wings  of — of  melody  and  get  close  enough 
to  make  myself  heard.  In  my  own  way  I  was  sort  of 
praying  for  those  two  children.  Foolish,  isn't  it?  I'm 
sorry  I  told  you.  It  sounds  nutty  to  me  when  I  stop  to 
consider  it."  Pope  stirred  uneasily  under  Adoree's 
gravely  speculative  eyes.  "Lorelei's  all  right?" 

Adoree  nodded.  "It's  a  boy."  There  was  a  moment 
of  silence.  " Did  you  ever  see  a  brand-new  baby?" 

"Lord,  no!" 

Miss  Demorest's  gaze  remained  bent  upon  Pope,  but  it 
was  focused  upon  great  distances;  her  voice  when  she 
spoke  was  hushed  and  awe-stricken.  "Neither  did  I 
until  this  one.  I  held  it!  I  held  it  in  my  arms.  Oh — 
I  was  frightened,  and  yet  I  seemed  to  know  just  what 
to  do  and — and  everything.  It  was  strange.  It  hurt  me 
terribly,  for,  you  see,  I  didn't  know  what  babies  meant 
until  to-night.  Now  I  know." 

Pope  saw  the  shining  eyes  suddenly  fill  and  threaten 

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to  overflow;  instead  of  the  grotesquely  overdressed  and 
artificial  stage  favorite  he  beheld  only  a  yearning  woman 
whose  face  was  softened  and  glorified  as  by  a  vision. 

"Poor  Lorelei!"  he  murmured,  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"Poor  Lorelei?"  Adoree's  lips  twisted  mirthlessly. 
"Of  course  you  don't  understand.  How  could  you? 
Why,  it's  her  baby.  She's  a  mother.  I  can  hold  it  once 
in  a  while;  she  can  hold  it  always." 

"I  didn't  know  you  cared  for  children." 

Adoree  shrugged;  the  beads  at  her  throat  clicked  bar 
barously.  "Neither  did  I,  but  I  suppose  every  woman 
does  if  she  only  knew  it.  To-night  I  began  to  understand 
what  this  ache  inside  of  me  means."  Her  gaze  came  back 
and  centered  upon  his  face,  but  it  was  frightened  and 
panic-stricken  now.  "I've  sacrificed  my  right  to  chil 
dren." 

"How  can  you  say — " 

"Oh,  you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do!"  A  flush  wavered 
in  the  speaker's  cheeks,  then  fled,  leaving  her  white  and 
weary.  "You,  of  all  men,  must  understand.  I'm  no 
torious.  I'm  a  painted  woman,  a  wicked  woman — the 
wickedest  woman  in  the  land — and  that  reputation  will 
live  in  spite  of  anything  I  can  do."  She  began  to  cry 
now  in  a  way  strange  to  Pope's  experience,  for  her  tears 
appeared,  grew,  and  spilled  themselves  slowly  down  her 
cheeks,  and  she  made  no  attempt  to  hide  them.  The 
sight  depressed  him  dreadfully,  for  at  heart  he  was  in 
tensely  sentimental.  "I  didn't  know  what  it  means  to  be 
notorious,"  she  stated,  tensely.  "I  didn't  know  what  I 
was  doing  when  I  agreed  to  be  'Adoree  Demorest.'" 

Pope's  habitual  restraint  all  at  once  gave  way.  "Non 
sense  !"  he  exploded.  "The  thing  that  counts  is  what  you 
are,  not  what  you  seem  to  be.  I  know  the  truth;  I 
don't  give  a  damn  what  people  say." 

Now  there  was  nothing  sufficiently  significant  about 
these  words  to  bring  a  light  of  wonderment  and  gladness 

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to  the  girl's  face,  but  her  tears  ceased  as  abruptly  as  they 
had  commenced,  and,  noting  the  slowly  growing  radiance 
of  her  expression,  Campbell  was  stricken  dumb  with 
fright  at  the  possible  consequences  of  temerity.  The 
knowledge  of  his  shortcomings  robbed  him  of  confidence 
and  helped  to  confuse  him. 

Adoree  rose,  she  removed  her  tango  cap  and  the  mantle 
elaborately  draped  from  one  shoulder  that  served  as  an 
evening  wrap,  then  with  a  lingering  backward  glance  she 
disappeared  into  her  chamber.  She  bathed  her  eyes, 
powdered  her  cheeks,  patted  her  hair  into  more  becoming 
fashion,  gave  a  final  dab  of  the  puff  upon  her  nose,  as  an 
expert  billiard-player  chalks  his  cue.  When  she  had 
quite  finished  she  returned  to  the  critic,  who  meanwhile 
had  remained  frozen  in  his  tracks.  For  a  moment  she 
stood  looking  up  at  him  with  a  peculiar,  tender  smile, 
then  took  him  by  the  lapels  of  his  shapeless  coat  and  drew 
his  thin  face  down  to  hers. 

"I'm  not  going  to  let  you  back  out,"  she  declared, 
firmly.  "You  asked  me,  didn't  you?" 

"Adoree!  No,  no!  Think  what  you  are  doing,"  he 
cried,  sharply. 

But  she  continued  to  smile  up  into  his  eyes  with  a 
gladness  that  intoxicated  him. 

She  snuggled  closer  to  him,  murmuring,  cozily:  "I 
don't  want  to  think — we'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  think 
when  we're  too  old  to  talk.  Now,  I  just  want  to  love 
you  as  hard  as  you  have  been  loving  me  for  the  last  six 
months." 

During  the  days  of  Lorelei's  recovery  Bob  Wharton 
was  in  a  peculiarly  exultant  mood.  Her  ready  forgive 
ness  of  his  behavior  did  much  to  renew  his  faith  in  himself, 
besides  doubling  his  devotion  to  her.  He  did  not  feel  that 
he  could  ever  learn  to  love  her  any  more  than  he  did,  for 
at  times  the  strength  of  his  passion  frightened  him,  but 

429 


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her  allowance  for  his  weakness  brought  them  into  closer 
touch  with  each  other  and  kindled  in  him  an  aching 
humility  that  craved  self-sacrifice.  Dwarfing  these  and 
kindred  emotions,  however,  was  a  feeling  altogether  new 
which  had  come  with  the  birth  of  his  son.  At  first  the 
baby  awed  and  frightened  Bob,  it  oppressed  him  with  a 
sense  of  tremendous  responsibility,  but  on  the  heels  of 
this  came  a  dawning  pride  and  then  an  insatiable  curiosity. 
He  began  to  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  with  the  infant; 
he  studied  it,  he  stared  at  it,  when  no  one  was  looking  he 
felt  of  the  little  fellow  gingerly,  and  would  have  enjoyed 
examining  it  minutely  had  he  dared.  His  hands  itched 
for  it,- and  its  weak,  strangling  gurgles  sent  indescribable 
thrills  through  him.  The  easy  dexterity  with  which  the 
nurse  handled  it — as  if  the  precious  atom  were  a  bundle 
of  rags — excited  Bob's  liveliest  apprehension,  and  at  such 
times  he  hovered  near  by,  poised  upon  tiptoe  for  fear 
she  might  drop  it.  He  felt  that  it  should  be  borne  on 
silken  cushions  while  heads  were  bowed  and  backs  bent 
rather  than  upon  the  hip  or  in  the  crook  of  a  careless  elbow. 
When  he  ventured  to  voice  this  feeling  to  his  wife  he  was 
offended  at  her  amusement,  and  for  a  whole  day  tortured 
himself  with  the  suspicion  that  the  child's  mother  did 
not  truly  love  it. 

To  all  young  fathers  there  comes  a  certain  readjustment 
of  values.  To  Bob,  who  had  always  led  a  selfish,  thought 
less  existence,  it  was  at  first  bewildering  to  discover  that 
his  place  at  the  head  of  his  household  had  been  usurped 
by  another.  Heretofore  he  had  always  been  of  supreme 
domestic  importance,  but  now  the  order  of  things  was 
completely  reversed,  if  not  hopelessly  jumbled.  First  in 
consequence  came  this  new  person,  tiny  and  vastly 
tyrannical  because  of  its  helplessness,  then  the  nurse,  an 
awesome  person — a  sort  of  oracle  and  regent  combined — 
who  ruled  in  the  name  and  stead  of  the  new  heir.  Nurse's 
wisdom  was  unbounded,  her  lightest  wish  was  law,  and 

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next  to  her  in  authority  was  a  fat,  bearded  prime  minister 
who  daily  came  and  went  in  an  automobile  and  who  wrote 
edicts  on  a  little  pad.  This  person's  frown  threw  the 
entire  establishment  into  confusion".  Lorelei  herself  occu 
pied  no  mean  station  in  the  new  scheme,  for  at  least 
she  shared  the  confidence  of  the  nurse  and  the  doctor,  and 
ranked  above  the  cook  and  the  housemaid,  but  not  so 
Bob.  Somewhere  at  the  foot  of  the  list  he  found  his 
own  true  place. 

Now,  strange  to  say,  this  novel  arrangement  was 
extremely  agreeable  to  the  deposed  ruler.  Bob  took  a 
shameless  delight  in  doing  menial  service;  to  fetch  and  to 
carry  for  all  hands  filled  him  with  joy.  But  once  outside 
of  the  premises  he  reasserted  himself,  and  his  importance 
grew  as  gas  expands;  he  swelled  to  the  bursting-point,  he 
strutted,  he  grinned,  he  was  broadly  tolerant,  and  more 
than  once  he  startled  total  strangers  by  laughing  hilari 
ously  at  nothing.  When  he  could  not  talk  he  whistled 
in  tune  to  the  singing  voices  within  him.  But  it  was 
seldom  indeed  that  he  could  not  talk,  and  before  long 
his  intimate  friends  began  to  avoid  him  like  a  plague. 
It  was  his  partner,  Kurtz,  who  finally  dubbed  him  "The 
Pestilence  that  talketh  in  darkness  and  the  Destruction 
that  wasteth  our  noondays." 

Scarcely  less  interested  in  the  new  baby  was  Campbell 
Pope.  Pope,  in  fact,  was  becoming  interested  in  almost 
everything  of  late.  He  was  growing  youthful,  too,  in  a 
way  that  vaguely  alarmed  his  acquaintances.  His  cyni 
cism  was  disappearing,  his  dramatic  reviews  began  to 
assume  a  commendatory  tone  that  all  but  destroyed  their 
journalistic  value. 

When  Lorelei  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  receive 
visitors  the  two  lovers  appeared  one  afternoon  laden  with 
packages. 

"We've  been  shopping  for  the  baby,"  Adore'e  explained, 
as  she  began  to  unload  herself;  and  Pope  announced  en- 


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thusiastically  that  the  experience  had  been  the  most 
exciting  of  an  adventurous  lifetime.  Both  of  them,  it 
seemed,  had  given  free  rein  to  their  extravagance,  for  to 
begin  with  there  was  a  marvelous  locomotive  that  ran 
on  a  circular  track,  slightly  too  large  to  fit  any  room  in  the 
apartment.  It  was  no  ordinary  tin  toy;  it  had  a  bell  that 
rang  and  a  whistle  that  tooted  and  a  queer  little  painted 
manikin  inside  the  cab.  There  were,  moreover,  a  depot, 
a  bridge,  and  a  frowning  mountain  range  pierced  by  a 
tunnel.  All  in  all,  the  outfit  weighed  perhaps  sixty  pounds 
and  required  the  operating  skill  of  a  practical  mechanic. 

And  it  proved  to  be  a  dangerous  plaything,  too,  for 
once  it  had  been  thoroughly  wound  up  and  set  in  motion 
it  developed  an  unsuspected  and  terrifying  energy.  Bob 
subdued  it  only  after  it  had  completed  a  speed  trial  down 
the  hall,  in  the  course  of  which  it  substantially  damaged 
baseboard  and  plaster. 

Pope's  taste  ran  to  mechanical  contrivances;  among 
his  contributions  there  were,  in  addition  to  this  public 
nuisance,  an  automobile,  a  camera,  a  bowling-alley,  and 
a  set  of  small  carpenter's  tools,  the  mere  sight  of  which 
brought  out  a  sweat  of  apprehension  upon  the  baby's 
father.  Adoree,  on  the  other  hand,  had  invested  heavily 
in  animals;  her  gifts  included  a  roaring  lion,  a  peacock 
with  a  lease-breaking  voice,  an  elephant  that  walked, 
accompanied  by  strange,  whirring,  abdominal  sounds, 
besides  many  other  products  of  the  toy  -  makers' 
fancy.  There  was  a  huge  doll  which  Miss  Demorest 
had  purchased  because  of  its  resemblance  to  herself  and 
which  was  promptly  christened  "Aunt  AdoreV';  there 
were  an  ermine  coat  and  a  toy  theater,  also  a  full  morocco 
set  of  Lives  of  Famous  Musicians,  in  six  volumes,  this 
being  an  afterthought  of  Pope's,  who  feared  the  effects 
of  Bob's  low  musical  tastes  upon  a  tender  child.  In 
addition  to  all  these  there  was  an  elaborate  enameled 
baby's  bed  with  garlands  of  bisque  flowers  and  a  point 

432 


THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

d'esprit  canopy.  This  Adoree's  sad-faced  footman  had 
held  upon  the  front  of  the  automobile  during  an  embarrass 
ing  trip  up  Fifth  Avenue  and"  Riverside  Drive. 

During  the  examination  of  these  interesting  objects 
the  lovers  made  known  their  happiness;  then,  after  the 
customary  felicitations,  Adoree  explained:  "Everything 
is  arranged.  We  are  going  to  be  quietly  married  at  once — 
I'm  afraid  he'll  get  away  from  me  if  I  put  it  off — " 

"Not  a  chance!"     Pope's  sallow  face  colored  happily. 

"As  soon  as  I  finish  my  theatrical  contract,"  Adorie 
ran  on,  "we  are  going  to  drop  quietly  out  of  sight  and 
stay  out  of  sight." 

"Going  to  live  abroad?"  Bob  inquired. 

"Worse!"  Pope  explained.  "Long  Island.  We're  go 
ing  to  raise  ducks." 

"  Ducks !"  Adore"e  echoed,  beatifically.  "  Hundreds  and 
thousands  of  ducks!  Little  ducks  and  big  ducks,  fuzzy 
ones  and  smooth  ones.  Campbell  can  write  plays,  and 
I'll  wear  kimonos  and  be  comfortable.  It's  wonderful 
to  think  about,  isn't  it?" 

Pope  supplemented  her  eagerly.  "I'm  looking  for  a 
bungalow  on  salt-water,  with  a  south  exposure  for  the 
brooder-houses.  Say!  We're  going  to  live.  I  tell  you, 
Bob,  there's  money  in  ducks.  I'm  reading  up  on  the  sub 
ject.  My  dear  fellow,  do  you  realize  that — "  He  swung 
into  his  pet  subject  so  swiftly  that  Bob  could  not  head 
him  off  and  was  forced  to  listen  somewhat  dazedly. 

Lorelei  reached  forth  and  drew  Adore"e  down  to  her, 
whispering:  "I'm  so  glad,  dear.  I  knew  he  would  end 
by  loving  you,  for  everybody  does." 

Pope  concluded  a  lengthy  harangue  by  saying:  "My 
mistake  last  year  was  in  the  food.  Ducks  need  soft 
food." 

" Listen!"  Bob  raised  a  hand  and  nodded  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  girls.  "They're  discussing  that  very  subject." 

"Top  milk,  indeed!"  Adore*e  was  crying,  indignantly. 
28  433 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

"Ours  will  have  cream  when  they  want  it,  and  lots  of  it, 

too." 

"My  dear!  It  will  be  fatal."  Lorelei  was  horrified. 
"  Use  nothing  but  top  milk  and  barley-water.  Be  sure  to 
sterilize  the  bottles  and  soak  the  nipples  in  borax— 

"Say!"  Campbell  Pope  flushed  painfully  and  rose  to 
his  feet.  "They're  not  talking  ducks.  Women  haven't 
the  least  delicacy,  have  they?  Let's  go  out  and  smoke." 

One  day,  after  Bob  had  acquired  sufficient  confidence 
in  himself  and  in  the  baby  to  handle  it  without  anxiety 
to  the  nurse,  he  begged  permission  to  show  it  to  the  hall- 
man  down-stairs.  He  returned  greatly  elated,  explaining 
that  the  attendant,  who  had  some  impossible  number  of 
babies  of  his  own  and  might  therefore  be  considered  an 
authority,  declared  this  one  to  be  the  finest  he  had  ever 
beheld.  Oddly  enough,  this  praise  delighted  Bob  out 
of  all  reason.  He  remained  in  a  state  of  suppressed  excite 
ment  all  that  day,  and  on  the  following  afternoon  he  again 
kidnapped  the  child  for  a  second  exhibition.  It  seemed 
that  the  infant's  fame  spread  rapidly,  for  soon  the  tenants 
of  neighboring  apartments  began  to  clamor  for  a  sight 
of  it,  and  Bob  was  only  too  eager  to  gratify  them.  Every 
afternoon  he  took  his  son  down-stairs  with  him,  until 
finally  Lorelei  checked  him  as  he  was  going  out. 

"Bob,  dear,"  she  said,  with  the  faintest  shadow  of  a 
smile.  "I  don't  think  it's  good  for  him  to  go  out  so 
often.  Why  don't  you  ask  your  father  and  mother  to 
come  up?" 

Wharton  flushed,  then  he  stammered,  "I — what  makes 
you — er — think — ' ' 

"Why,  I  guessed  it  the  very  first  day."  Lorelei's  smile 
saddened.  "They  needn't  see  me,  you  know." 

Bob  laid  the  child  back  in  its  bed.  "But  that's  just 
what  they  want.  They  want  to  see  you,  only  I  wouldn't 
let  you  be  bothered.  They're  perfectly  foolish  over  the 

434 


T  ORELEI  reached  forth  and  drew  Adore"e  down  to  her, 
L-j whispering:  "I'm  so  glad,  dear.  I  knew  he  would 
end  by  loving  you,  for  everybody  does." 


THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

kid;  mother  cries,  and  father — but  just  wait."  He 
rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  in  a  few  moments  returned 
with  his  parents. 

Hannibal  Wharton  was  deeply  embarrassed,  but  his 
wife  went  straight  to  Lorelei  and,  bending  over  her  chair, 
placed  a  kiss  upon  her  lips.  "There,"  said  she.  "When 
you  are  stronger  I'm  going  to  apologize  for  the  way  we've 
treated  you.  We're  old  people.  We're  selfish  and  suspi 
cious  and  unreasonable,  but  we're  not  entirely  inhuman. 
You  won't  be  too  hard  on  us,  will  you?" 

The  old  lady's  eyes  were  shining,  the  palms  which  were 
clasped  over  Lorelei's  hand  were  hot  and  tremulous.  The 
look  of  hungry  yearning  that  greeted  the  elder  woman's 
words  was  ample  answer,  and  with  a  little  choking  cry  she 
gathered  the  weak  figure  into  her  arms  and  thrilled  as 
she  felt  the  amber  head  upon  her  breast. 

Hannibal  trumpeted  into  his  handkerchief,  then  cleared 
his  throat  premonitorily,  but  Bob  forestalled  him  with  a 
happy  laugh.  "Don't  hold  any  post-mortems,  dad. 
Lorelei  knows  everything  you  intend  to  say." 

"I'm  blamed  if  she  does,"  rumbled  the  old  man,  "be 
cause  I  don't  know  myself.  I'm  not  much  on  apologies; 
I  can  take  'em,  but  I  can't  make  'em."  His  voice  rose 
sternly:  "Young  lady,  the  night  that  baby  was  born  I 
stood  outside  this  house  for  hours  because  I  was  afraid 
to  come  in.  And  my  feet  hurt  like  the  devil,  too.  I 
wouldn't  lose  that  much  sleep  for  the  whole  Steel  Trust; 
but  I  didn't  dare  go  back  to  the  hotel,  for  mother  was 
waiting,  and  I  was  afraid  of  her,  too.  I  don't  intend  to  go 
through  another  night  like  that." 

Bob's  mother  turned  to  her  son,  saying:  "She  is 
beautiful,  and  she  is  good,  too.  Anybody  can  see  that. 
We  could  love  her  for  what  she  has  done  for  you,  if  for 
nothing  else." 

"Well,  I  should  say  so,"  proudly  vaunted  the  son. 
"She  took  a  chance  when  she  didn't  care  for  me,  and  she 

437 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

made  me  into  a  regular  fellow.  Why,  she  reformed  me 
from  the  ground  up.  I've  sworn  off  every  blessed  thing 
I  used  to  do." 

"Including  drinking?"  gruffly  queried  the  father. 

"Yes." 

Lorelei  smiled  her  slow,  reluctant  smile  at  the  vis 
itors,  and  her  voice  was  gentle  as  she  'said:  "He  thinks 
he  has,  but  it's  hard  to  stop  entirely,  and  you  mustn't 
blame  him  if  he  forgets  himself  occasionally.  You  see, 
drinking  is  mostly  a  matter  of  temperament,  after  all. 
But  he  is  doing  splendidly,  and  some  day  perhaps — " 

They  nodded  understandingly. 

"You'll  try  to  like  us,  won't  you,  for  Bob's  sake?" 
pleaded  the  old  lady,  timidly. 

"  I  intend  to  love  you  both  very  dearly,"  shyly  returned 
the  girl,  and,  noting  the  light  in  Lorelei's  face,  Bob  Whar- 
ton  was  satisfied. 

Restraint  vanished  swiftly  under  the  old  couple's  evident 
determination  to  make  amends,  but  after  they  had  gone 
Lorelei  became  so  pensive  that  Bob  said,  anxiously,  "I 
hope  you  weren't  polite  to  them  merely  for  my  sake." 

Lorelei  shook  her  head.  "No.  I  was  only  thinking — 
Do  you  realize  that  none  of  my  own  people  have  been  to 
see  me?  That  I  haven't  had  a  single  word  from  any  of 
them?" 

Bob  stirred  uncomfortably;  he  started  to  speak,  then 
checked  himself  as  she  went  on,  not  without  some  effort: 
"I'm  going  to  say  something  unpleasant,  but  I  think 
you  ought  to  know  it.  When  they  learn  that  your  parents 
have  taken  me  in  and  made  up  with  us  they're  going  to 
ask  me  for  money.  It's  a  terrible  thing  to  say,  but  it's 
true." 

"Do  you  want  to  see  them?  Do  you  want  them  to  see 
the  baby?" 

"N-no!"  Lorelei  was  pale  as  she  made  answer.  "Not 
after  all  that  has  passed." 

438 


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Bob  heaved  a  grateful  sigh.  "I'm  glad.  They  won't 
trouble  you  any  more." 

"Why?    What—" 

"I've  been  waiting  until  you  were  strong  to  tell  you. 
I've  noticed  how  their  silence  hurt  you,  but — it's  my 
fault  that  they  haven't  been  here.  I  sent  them  away." 

"You  sent  them  away?" 

"Yes.  I  fixed  them  with  money  and — they're  happy  at 
last.  There's  considerable  to  tell.  Jim  got  into  trouble 
with  the  police  and  finally  sent  for  me.  He  told  me 
everything  and — it  wasn't  pretty;  I'd  rather  not  repeat 
all  he  said,  but  it  opened  my  eyes  and  showed  me  why 
they  brought  you  here,  how  they  put  you  on  the  auction 
block,  and  how  they  cried  for  bids.  He  told  me  things 
you  know  nothing  about  and  could  never  guess.  When 
he  had  finished  I  thanked  God  that  they  had  flung  you 
into  my  arms  instead  of — some  other  man's.  It's  a 
miracle  that  you  weren't  sacrificed  utterly." 

"Where  is  Jim  now?" 

"Somewhere  in  the  boundless  West.  He  gave  me  his 
promise  to  reform." 

"He  never  will." 

"Of  course  not,  and  I  don't  expect  it  of  him.  You  see, 
I  know  how  hard  it  is  to  reform." 

"But  mother  and  father?" 

"I'm  coming  to  them.  My  dad  came  around  the  day 
after  our  baby  was  born  and  shook  hands.  He  wanted 
to  stamp  right  in  here  and  tell  you  what  a  fool  he  had 
made  of  himself,  but  I  wouldn't  stand  for  it.  Finally, 
when  he  saw  the  kid,  he  blew  up  entirely,  and  right  away 
proposed  breaking  ground  for  a  jasper  palace  for  the 
youngster.  He  wanted  to  build  it  in  Pittsburg  where 
he  could  run  in,  going  to  and  from  business.  Mother  was 
just  as  foolish,  too.  Well,  when  I  had  had  my  little  un 
derstanding  with  Jim  and  learned  the  whole  truth  about 
your  people  I  realized  that  no  matter  where  we  went 

439 


THE   AUCTION    BLOCK 

they  would  be  a  constant  menace  to  our  happiness  unless 
they  were  provided  for.  It  struck  me  that  you  had 
made  a  game  fight  for  happiness,  and  I  couldn't  stand  for 
anything  to  spoil  it  at  the  last  minute.  I  went  to  mother 
and  told  her  the  facts,  and  she  seemed  to  understand  as 
well  as  I  how  you  must  feel  in  spite  of  all  they  had  done, 
so  we  shook  down  the  governor  for  an  endowment." 

"Bob!  What  do  you  mean?"  Lorelei  faltered  in  be 
wilderment. 

"We  asked  him  for  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  got 
it." 

Lorelei  gasped. 

"He  bellowed  like  a  bull,  he  spat  poison  like  a  cobra,  he 
writhed  like  a  bucket  of  eels,  but  we  put  it  over." 

"A  hundred  thousand  dollars!"  whispered  the  wife. 

"To  a  penny.  And  it's  in  the  bank  to  your  credit. 
But  I  didn't  stop  there."  Bob's  voice  hardened.  "I 
went  to  your  mother  and  in  your  name  I  promised  her 
the  income  from  it  so  long,  and  only  so  long,  as  she  and 
Peter  stayed  away  from  you.  She  accepted — rather 
greedily,  I  thought — and  they  have  gone  back  to  Vale. 
They  have  your  old  house,  and  I  have  their  promise  never 
to  see  you  except  upon  your  invitation.  Of  course  you 
can  go  to  them  whenever  you  wish,  but — they're  happy, 
and  I  think  we  will  be  happier  with  them  in  Vale  than  in 
New  York.  I  hope  you  don't  object  to  my  arrangement." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  then  Lorelei  sighed.  "You 
are  a  yery  good  man,  Bob.  It  was  my  dream  to  do 
something  of  this  sort,  but  I  could  never  have  done  it 
so  well." 

Her  husband  bent  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  "  It  wasn't 
all  my  doings;  I  had  help.  And  you  mustn't  feel  sad,  for 
something  tells  me  you're  going  to  learn  finally  the  mean 
ing  of  a  real  mother's  love." 

"Yes — yes!"  The  answer  came  dreamily,  then  as  a 
fretful  complaint  issued  from  the  crib  at  her  side  Lorelei 

440 


THE    AUCTION    BLOCK 

leaned  forward  and  swiftly  gathered  the  baby  into  her 
arms. 

"Is  he  sick?"  Bob  questioned,  in  alarm. 

"No,  silly.     He's  only  hungry." 

There  in  the  gathering  dusk  Bob  Wharton  looked  on  at 
a  sight  that  never  failed  to  thrill  him  strangely.  In  his 
wife's  face  was  a  beautiful  content,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  fitting  indeed  that  this  country  girl  who  had  come  to 
the  city  in  quest  of  Life  should  end  her  search  thus,  with 
a  baby  at  her  breast. 


THE    END 


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Idols William  J.  Locke 

Illustrious  Prince,  The E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Jtnposter,  The John  Reed  Scott 

Jn  Defiance  of  the  King Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss 

Indifference  of  Juliet,  The Grace  S.  Richmond 

Inez  ( Illustrated  Edition) Augusta  J.  Evan* 

Infelice Augusta  Evans  Wilson 

Initials  Only Anna  Katharine  Green 

Iron  Trail,  The Rex  Beach 

iron  Woman,  The Margaret  Delnnd 

(shmael  (Illustrated) . .  .Mrs.  F.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
Island  of  Regeneration,  The.  .Cyrus  Townsend  Brady 

Japonette Robert  W.  Chambers 

Jane  Cable George  Ban  McCutcheon 

Jeanne  of  the  Marshes E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Jennie  Gerhardt Theodore  Dreiser 

Joyful  Heatherby Payne  Erskint 

Judgment  House,  The Sir  Gilbert  Parker 


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Keith  of  the  Border Randall  Parrish 

Key  to  the  Unknown,  The Rosa  N.  Carey 

King  Spruce.  Holman  Day 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The Ethel  M.  Dell 

Lady  and  the  Pirate,  The Emerson  Hough 

Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water. 

C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Land  of  Long  Ago,  The Eliza  Calvert  Hall 

Langf  ord  of  the  Three  Bars .  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boylet 

Last  Trail,  The Zane  Grey 

Last  Voyage  of  the  Donna  Isabel,The  Randall  Parrith 

Leavenworth  Case,  The Anna  Kalherine  Green 

Life  Mask,  The Author  of  "  To  M.  L.  G." 

Jaghted  Way,  The E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Lin  McLean Owen  Wister 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare,  The .  M eredith  Nicholson 

Lonesome  Land B.  M.  Bower 

Lord  Loveland  Discovers  America. 

C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Lorimer  of  the  Northwest Harold  Bindlos 

Lorraine Robert  W.  Chamber! 

Lost  Ambassador,  The E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Love  Under  Fire Randall  Parrish 

Macaria  (Illustrated  Edition) Augusta  J.  Etant 

Maid  at  Arms,  The Robert  W.  Chambers 

Maid  of  Old  New  York,  A Amelia  E.  Ban 

Maids  of  Paradise,  The Robert  W.  Chamberi 

Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills,  The Vingie  E.  Roe 

Maid  of  the  Forest,  The Randall  Punish 

Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.  .Geo.  Randolph  Chester 

Mam'  Linda WillN.  Harben 

Marriage E.G.  Wells 

Marriage  a  la  Mode Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward 

Master  Mummer,  The E.  PhiUips  Oppenheim 

Masters  of  the  Wheatlands Harold  Bindloss 

Max Katherine  Cecil  Thurston 

Medial  The Roy  Norton 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes A.  Conan  Doyle 

Missioner,  The E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Miss  Gibbie  Gault Kate  Langley  Bosher 


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